


Winter Reign

by RionaHGoch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Assassination, Assassination Attempt(s), Drama, Female Anti-Hero, Female Harry Potter, Fighter Harry, Friendship/Love, Grey Harry, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Manipulation, Multi, Mystery, Political Harry, Powerful Harry, Prostitution, Revolutionary War, Romance, Sexual Tension, Thriller, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Victorian Attitudes, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RionaHGoch/pseuds/RionaHGoch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Trelawney had met with Dumbledore in his office instead of Hog’s Head? What if Lily Potter hadn’t given birth to a boy, but to a girl? What if at the night of October 31st, the Potters weren’t murdered but killed in battle? And what if Voldemort had won that battle and killed Dumbledore? Welcome to the Magical Empire of Britain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I'm going to update my other fanfictions soon, but I just wanted to write a dystopia and this one will have many plot twists. I obviously don't own Harry Potter and anything related to it - the plot and the characters you don't recognize are mine. Harry will be called Hope most of time, but his real name is Ariane (Lily honored Arianna Dumbledore when he told her his story) Iris Potter. Iris is the flower of hope, as stated on the second chapter.  
> I'm too lazy to write many author notes asking for comments, kudos and favorites but I like them - they keep me motivated. If you have any critism to make, please comment.  
>   
> If you have any doubt, please ask. I'm too lazy to write author notes, but not do respond questions.  
> If you have any praises, they will make very happy. :  
> I have na incredible beta now, Saharuriot18. All the english mistakes of a non-native english speaker are now corrected by my beta. Thank you so much!

"By order of the Emperor of Magical Great Britain, all muggleborns are to be presented at the Royal Palace in order to be investigated. 

By order of the Emperor of Magical Great Britain, any muggle child that shows evidences of accidental magical must be hand over to the Empire. 

By order of the Emperor of Magical Great Britain, all those associated with the Order of Phoenix must surrender themselves for trial on charges of murder, treason, slander, conspiracy and endangerment of the Wizarding World…" 

"No!" Alice Longbottom shouted as the decree continued to be read out loud. Her husband, Frank Longbottom, firmly held her shoulders, stopping the woman from moving forward, but still she screamed in despair, their one year and seven months son in her arms.  Behind them, people moved out of the way, in fear of touching those with the feather in their arms – a symbol all the surviving members of the Order had received after that Halloween.

All of them knew what would happen to those in the Order. The trials were just euphemisms for the mass murder of those who were once considered enemies, but now were just the ones the Empire had subjugated. Frank Longbottom knew they had to somehow leave their son with his mother, and soon, or else he would have to be sent to one of the new "Orphanages" Voldemort had founded in the last week. Orphanages that everyone knew were just places for people to be brainwashed or further oppressed.

As they retreated back into their cells, Frank couldn't stop thinking about their friends in the Order. He was glad that Dumbledore had refused Arthur's and Molly's request  to join. Merlin knew that the six sons they had would need them...as did their new-born baby girl, what was her name? Gillian? Minerva? Oh, Ginevra. 

James and Lily, oh gods, what would happen to their little girl? Remus, Sirius and themselves, all of them were in the Order. All her guardians were to be killed by their new emperor. Maybe James could give the girl to her grandmother, too? But where was the child? They had left the girl at their home in Godric's Hollow on Halloween with Lily's sister; Petunia Evans wasn't the most pleasant woman in the world, but Lily had feared for her remaining family member's life. And then, when Voldemort killed Dumbledore, they had been subjugated. Some had tried to run, but Frank knew the news that the Death Eaters told to the prisoners. He had seen the heads impaled at the border of the dungeons. Marlene and her whole family. Edgar Bones. Mundungus Fletcher.

Frank had heard the Moody and Remus were still on run. Maybe little Ariane Iris Potter and her aunt were with them? And Pettigrew, the bloody rat that had turned on them so easily, that one was going to pay. As Frank Longbottom looked to the ex-members of the destroyed Order of Phoenix, all of them soon to be dead, he could only feel dread.

The three Longbottoms  shared a cell down in the dungeons of the palace that Voldemort had built in a week in the Fens. Apparently, he had reformed the ruins of the castle of the Slytherin Family, but that wasn't information that had been made public to the prisoners. What were they planning to do with it?

"Prisoner 6120, you have a visit from the Longbottom widow." Frank got up, looking to the bundle on his wife's arms. "I need my little man."

Neville, his son. Born on a sunny day in the summer of the last year. He had called it a blessing at the time, seeing his wife with the tiny bundle on her breast. The sun had washed the room that day at St. Mungo's with a beautiful glow. Nowadays, he could only think they had condemned their child to a horrible life. He could only hope that his mother would never tell his son about his parents. He didn't wish for Neville to grow up knowing that they had been killed because they were murderers. He didn't regret what he had done, but Frank knew that it would be better if his Nev' never knew about himself and his wife.  They could only bring sadness. If Neville understood the reasons for why Frank and Alice had fought, and supported their cause, he would be hunted down. Frank's heart hurt at the thought of his little man growing up to hate them. 

People said his son was the perfect mixture of the boy's parents. They were wrong; his son was his wife – her beauty, her kindness, her smile, her brightness.

His Alice kissed their son's forehead lovingly; the child's mouth open to babble "Mummy" to his mother. His wife smiled sadly to the child, her pixie hair floating wildly around her tired and dirty face. But it was that smile, that gentle smile that never really left his love's lips that made her the most beautiful woman in the world, he was sure of it.

"You need to go with your daddy, Sweetheart." She told to the boy in her arms, hugging him one last time before giving him to Frank. "You'll need to be a strong little man, okay? Be a good boy to your grandma. Mummy loves you."

"Mummy, not go." The boy said, now weeping in his father's arms.

"Don't cry, Sweetheart. Mummy loves you. Daddy loves you. You are so loved, Nev'." Alice repeated to their son as he walked away, repeating the same words to his son. After all, what else can one say when seeing one's child the last time?

oOo

On the other side of the dungeons, at the same, precise, moment, a man turned into a giant dog. In his head, just one thought ran on a loop; the names of his friends, the name of the one who betrayed them. The name of his goddaughter.

Sirius Orion Black was going to find them.

oOo

Remus Lupin sprinted madly through the forest, a small girl on his shoulders as he ran faster than he had ever had before. He had found her alone at the Godric's Hallow, no signal of Petunia. Many muggles lay dead at the main square of the village; the Death Eaters had raided the area after the last major battle. Maybe Lily's sister was one of the corpses. 

It was a full moon night, but he had to leave his surrogate goddaughter somewhere before turning into the hungry beast he knew he would become. As the sun began to slip under the west horizon, a sense of urgency took over him.

His body had begun to change and he knew there was no time. Grasping the child from his shoulders, Remus sat the little girl on a rock. The year and seven month toddler watched him with smart eyes, wide in fascination, her feet swinging on the air. "Moon….Moo'y; wolf."

"Stay here, Prongslet. I'll come back when the sun comes again, ok? Just…just stay here." He said, running away before his werewolf form could take his body completely. 


	2. Hope is black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks to my beta Saharuriot18. I don't own Harry Potter, obviously.

Hope. The name they called the girl found in the Forest of Dean. Because only hope could have saved the little girl from a worse destiny, a fate in a forest where the howls of wolves had been heard that very same day. The St. Paul's Orphanage was a muggle orphanage and had now been the home of Hope for just three months. Then, she had performed her first act of accidental magic, earlier than most. The wizards had come to take her away soon after that.

The second Orphanage that housed the baby girl wasn't as welcoming. Mordred's House was a large castle that homed for over a thousand children as the first of the three orphanages to be found in the wizarding world. There, muggleborn were raised to be soldiers, slaves, servants of company, courtesans, or breeders, depending on the magical core one had. With the beauty Hope displayed as she grew, anyone could bet she had a future as a courtesan or breeder, but only her display of magic ability at the age of thirteen would tell.

But maybe, "Luck" would have been a more fitting name for the girl. The events in her tenth birthday could testify to that.

Her birthday was set on the last day of January, the day she was taken from the St. Paul's Orphanage. Obviously, nobody celebrated it on Mordred's House, but as that date was also Imbolc Festival, and their classes were suspended in order to fulfill special chores outside the castle. They were supposed to make a bed for the goddess Brigid and leave food and drink, with clothing outside. If the Goddess found the offering acceptable, one could even have a vision of the future. But the purebloods had taken it to another level and a feast was thrown every year near a holy well.

Hope had been setting the giant bonfire in the middle of a clearing when she heard the scream.

She wasn't some idiot girl that would jump in the direction of a scream, but Hope knew the lands around her. She knew there wasn't anything that could defeat her living in the woodlands, her teachers had make sure of that with all those days she was thrown in forest at night, just to see if she could survive. The result had been a childhood full of battles with griffins, sphinxes, pixies and kelpies.

So, she walked in the direction of the scream, with her small knife in hand. She favored a knife or a dagger over a sword for the simple fact that at her ten years, she simply didn't have enough strength to be managing a sword in its full capacity. Hope wasn't a bad archer, but sadly, she didn't have the bow or arrows required to be one.

What waited for her was an acromantula in its full maturity, cornering a bleach blonde boy she had never saw. That could only mean that he was a half-blood or, judging by his dirty but fine clothes, a pureblood. Hope hesitated as she walked inside the other clearing. What was an acromantula doing there? They were native of the Southeast Asia, and not England.

But those thoughts didn't prevent Hope from breaking from her hesitation and jumping into the creature's thorax, her knife slaying its fovea, raising a scream of rage and pain of the animal. Without waiting for retaliation, the witch carved the knife against the thorax, using her knife as an anchor to slide down and attack one of its leg. That was all she was able to manage before the creature kicked her to the other side of the clearing, her body slamming on a tree.

"Dammed girl…you are going to pay for interrupting my feast." It muttered, approaching her form. Hope noticed that her surprise attack had been rather effective, with all that blood flowing from its thorax, and leg.

Hope watched as the giant spider left the frightened boy to creep in her direction. She could also feel her ankle throbbing in a not so uncommon sensation, this definitely wasn't the first time she had been hurt in a fight. Ignoring the pain, the girl stood up, gripping her knife tightly.

She had to get away. In a close combat, she was in great disadvantage, but if she could climb a tree and jump in the creature back again, well, she could work with that. Hiding behind a large root, she tore her sleeve and wrapped a piece of cloth tightly around her ankle in order to give it some extra support.

Grabbing a branch near the roots, Hope lifted herself up into the tree, her experienced arms working quickly to make up for the impotence of her left leg. The tops of the trees were one of her natural habitats. Since she was little kid, Hope had known that there, she was safe. And up there she had spent great parts of her free time, caught in her own world.

Turning her mind back to the fight she had to face, Hope could easily lock onto her target, its sheer size took great part of the clearing. The acromantula was swearing below her tree, weaving a web that would probably be able to lift the creature's weight. Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of silver-blond hair in the nearby treetops. Huh…the boy wasn't an idiot, at least. Pity that acromantulas could reach them even in the trees. So, yeah, she had to jump.

And so she did, her knife quick to pierce the beady eyes of the spider and any other part of its body that she could come into contact with. She had to be fast, and so she was: cutting the mouthparts off, and stabbing the pedipalps. Even after the creature was obviously dead, Hope only stopped when there was no sign of the animal, just an unrecognizable bloodied carapace.

Great. Now she could say she had already fought with an acromantula, too.

The boy jumped from the tree, and for the first time during that accident, the children could see each other properly. The boy had silver-blond hair, which could have been gelled, but now was just a disheveled and dirty mess. He had a heart-shaped face and sharp features which seemed to dominate his face. Height wise, he was as tall as she was, with a slim figure.

To the boy, the image of his savior was rather unique. A bloodied girl with a piece of cloth knotted around her ankle and a long, inky-black hair clinging on her forehead because of sweat. Behind all that blood, sweat and bruises, he could only stare at her beauty. And she was beautiful, with those long lashes attached to emerald orbs, feminine lips and angelic, yet scratched, face.

"How…how did you do it?" He sputtered, still in shock; first from the attack, and then from the girl.

"I've been fighting with creatures since I was a little kid." She answered nonchalantly. Hum…the poison of the acromantulas was rather valuable, maybe she could sell it at the Black Market. "Do you have any something I could hold some poison in?" She asked.

The boy searched in his pockets for a while, before offering her an empty ink bottle. She took it from his hands and glanced at him pointedly. "I'm not going to return it, alright?" The boy nodded and she beamed at him, walking in a cheerful pace to the corpse, ignoring the gob smacked looks of the boy. She was already forgetting the pain from her ankle with the perspective of money.

As she collected the poison, the boy began to talk.

"You didn't use magic, why?" He questioned, sitting on the ground. Hope smirked at the child, it was obvious that he wasn't used to being attacked by creatures, and neither was he used to sit on the ground, nor used to have his hair untidy. Quite the eventful day for him, she bet.

"I'm not allowed. Mudblood. Orphan. The full set." She answered, eying the acromantula's legs critically, trying to see if there was anything worthy in those. "I shouldn't have been so vicious." She muttered, deciding that nobody would pay a knut over those mangled heaps. Pity, the each leg could have costed around twenty Galleons on the Black Market.

"You are an orphan? Why?"

"Because my mother and my father are dead, why else? Never met them and don't know their names. So, no proof that I'm a mudblood, but I was found by muggles." She explained, leaving the corpse, satisfied with her harvest. She had enough poison to reap two hundred galleons, and the fangs wrapped in a pieces of her sleeves should fetch around forty galleons each. Hope sat down in front of the boy. "So, do you have a name?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire and heir of the noble and most ancient Houses of Malfoy and Black." He said proudly. "To whom I owe my life?"

"My name is Hope, young lord. No surname, for obvious reasons."

Draco's face twisted in a disgusted expression, as if he had smelt something bad. "Ugh, don't call me that. I shouldn't have mentioned my titles. You just saved my life, and you are amazing. Let's try this again. I'm Draco, nice to meet you, Hope."

Hope beamed at him and stood up to make a low, mocking curtsey. "It's an honor, my lord." She answered, between giggles as he buried his face into his hands. "But seriously, I really must thank you for this ink bottle. It will help me get a lot of money."

He snorted. "Yes, and I must thank you for saving my life. It will give me a lot of time to live it."

"How did you end up here with our little friend? There aren't supposed to be any acromantula in these lands. And if you are the Earl of Wiltshire, what are you doing in Warwickshire?"

"My parents and I are visiting the Marquise Nott for the Imbolc Festival. Regarding the creature, I can only say we have some enemies. And now so do you, seeing that you just killed that acromantula." He informed her, arching his eyebrows. She waved his expression off with a smile still on her face. "Well, they sent a giant spider after you. What would anyone expect a passer-by to do?"

He gave her a crooked smile that didn't match any child's expression, yet, despite all the secrets hidden by the young noble, his eyes still shinned with a childish amazement. "I guess most passers would have fled at the first opportunity, you didn't." He stopped for a moment, his thoughts going too deep for Hope understand them by watching his expression. "Very well, I should go. My parents might be dying of worry by now. Will you come?" Before Hope could respond, a shout interrupted them as five people invaded the clearing.

"Draco, keep away!" A slender, blonde woman said, grasping Draco's arm and pulling him to her. Meanwhile, the blond man in the group tried to stun Hope, but she easily avoided the charm, just to be thrown into the ground by two huge men.

"Stop! She killed the acromantula!" Draco interfered, freeing himself from his mother's arms. Hope smiled calmly at him from the ground, before managing a movement that could have been a graceful bow, if she wasn't lying on the ground. As she was, it resembled more a session of ab workout – Hope betted it wasn't respectful as it was supposed to be. "Your Graces, I had the pleasure of meeting your son and helping him out of this small…disturbance. I can drink Verisatum and repeat those words, if you prefer. I would even give you a Magical Oath or an Unbreakable Vow to prove that I mean no harm; but as you can see, I don't have a wand."

"You truly expect us to believe that a child like you killed one of the most dangerous creatures in the world without the use of a wand? I'm more inclined to believe that you used imperio on my son to convince him of your work." The father, a Duke Lucius Malfoy, said.

"It sounds a bit unbelievable, I admit. But I have been fighting with creatures since I was five, without the use of wand. And since I don't even have a wand I couldn't have used imperio. I've lived at Mordred's House since I was a baby. My name is Hope, just Hope."

"There is no wand, milord." One of the huge man informed and Hope smirked internally – nobody would believe that an assassin would throw its wand away if meeting others wizards, and so, they would be obliged to go to Mordred's House, where Hope was an exemplar student and probably, one of the few there destined to success.

And so they did. Hope was manhandled by the two brutes the whole way, but she didn't care much. The whole meeting had been profitable, as she would had something around three hundred galleons on her pockets the next day.

The moment they arrived at the castle, Hope was greeted warmly by the staff. She didn't have any friends at the orphanage, just allies, and none of those were present. The life at the castle was a game of surviving, the adults could like you, but they didn't risk their necks over you. So, being liked by them was nothing more than having someone to tell her abilities at the Selection. They didn't interfere if you were being bullied, raped or even killed. But it wasn't a state society. It was anarchism, and not in a good way.

Hope was a lone wolf. People knew not to play games with her, and in return she didn't interfere in their games. If there was a critical situation, she could bribe people and approach her allies, but she never played that way. The adults forbade magic, since they were mudbloods, but if one of them killed other…what was the problem? Just a little less of mud to clean.

After everything was cleared and Hope drank the truth serum, it was time for the Malfoys to give a bit of thanks. And they did so wonderfully.

Hope sat on a wooden stool, her body and hair clean and freshly dressed in a wool jumpsuit she had bought in the Black Market with the money obtained from selling Kelpie mane; her feet in the moccasins she had made with Porlock leather. Freezing water was dripping of her hair until Duchess Malfoy offered to dry them with magic, an offer which Hope accepted.

In front of her, sat the six nobles in armchairs. Duchess Narcissa Malfoy, a pale gold-blonde, elegant woman with sharp and regal features, and a slender frame in a dark green velvet gown; Duke Lucius Malfoy, a long-haired white blond man, with high cheekbones in a pointed face and grey eyes, his tall and aristocratic body in black robes; Sir Vinicio Crabbe, a fat man with a dark beard which mixed with his hair in a disgusting way; Sir George Goyle, a rugged, square man with a clean face that made him looks like a giant baby; and Duke Rabastan Lestrange, a slim and athletic man with long, dark auburn hair and a harsh features.

"You, my dear, are perfect." Narcissa started. Well, not an offending way to start a conversation, at least. "A man, his name was Aldon Spinff I think, kindly informed me a little bit about you. An extremely large magical core, a beautiful body, and the highest grades on your classes…I'm glad you are still ten because if you were thirteen, I would have much more competition to have you." She smiled at her.

"You saved my son's life, risking your own when you had nothing but a knife to use. Despite the harshness of your actions, I couldn't be gladder for them. It's a pity you have no surname, but I think that in the position you might be found, Black would be the most fitting surname."

"Black, your Grace? As the Noble and the Most Ancient House of Black?" This time Hope was gob smacked. Black!

"Yes, you see. I wish to adopt you."

OoO

There was nothing in the world that could make the Malfoys be called blood-traitors; but there was nothing in the whole universe that could make a Slytherin ignore a chance of success, and Hope had success written on her forehead. So, when the prominent orphan Hope vanished from the world and the noble Hope Lyra Black appeared on it, nobody could connect the dots. Narcissa had told her that only a small, select group knew her true identity: Narcissa, Lucius, Draco and the Emperor. Duke Lestrange, and Sirs Crabbe and Goyle had been excluded, thanks to a memory charm; and the last remaining Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, had been told by the Dark Lord to just accept it, and as loyal follower, she had.

The Emperor had, surprisingly, welcomed the idea, for reasons that Hope didn't dare to think. She received the title of Dame and went to live with the Malfoys at their manor in Wiltshire. She had found in Draco her first friend, and they could often be seen in the woods, with Hope teaching Draco how to throw knives, or to fight with swords. Narcissa had been very worried about her son's safety until Hope patiently showed that there was no harm. Sometimes, when they didn't attend magic classes, they would ride the abraxans of the stables and Hope would show him how to hunt with an arch.

But for that to start happening of course, she had to learn to ride in a winged horse first.

Hope followed lazily behind Draco as he beamed down at the hills of the Malfoy property, petals of springtime flowers flowing around them. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail and she was wearing the dresses that a proper noble girl was supposed to wear. Hope hated the blasted thing called skirt, but didn't see any reason to complain, as they were certainly better than her former clothing. After some months with her new wardrobe, Hope was getting used to adapting always-graceful movements to the skirt, and now, she could easily avoid showing her knickers as she jumped and fought. The easiest thing to her was the heels. The first time she had tried them, Narcissa had said it would be the Hell, but Hope had to disagree with that, maybe the fact that she had always tended to walk on her tiptoes while moving had helped.

Draco stopped at the top of a hill where two horses were grazing. It took Hope two seconds to notice that the giant cream-colored animals had wings. Oh, gods. Abraxans. "You don't really expect me to ride them, do you?"

"Why not? It isn't that different from riding a wingless horse, you'll see." Draco said pulling her to the animals.

"Draco, I have never ridden a wingless horse, and now do you really expect me to ride one that will take me off the ground? And don't dare to say that is the same of a broomstick, I know it isn't and you know that too."

"Ok, so the monkey girl who fights with acromantulas is scared of a pony?" Draco taunted. "I expected more of someone so used to magical creatures."

"I don't know if you notice, but I'm used to killing magical creatures. Do you want me to kill your ponies, Draco? That I can do." She said, pointing to the spot on her arm where they both knew she hide a dagger, an opal one that Bellatrix had gifted her when they met.

"Sure. Kill them. The next victims are going to be unicorns. Seriously Hope, can't you be a bit less vicious? I thought we have got over killing creatures with the pixies. Pixies! Who kills a pixie?" He threw his arms to the sky, in an affronted manner. Hope smirked, oh how she loved to watch her friend when he was outraged, even if it was just an act. Draco was great actor, and his acting was cute, childish even.

"I've killed some, you known. The eyes costs fifteen galleons a pair in the Black Market, the heart fifty, and the lungs twenty." She added nonchalantly.

"You are a cold-hearted bastard, Hope. The real mercenary, eighty-five galleons for a pixie killed."

"I didn't have money! I was not always rich like you Draco. They attacked me at the forest, I killed them. Ergo, I survived in the orphanage!" She shouted, not nearly irritated as her voice sounded. She just liked to watch as Draco's expression morphed in one of panic. She knew he wasn't to be blamed. He was just a child.

"Ok, sorry. Eighty-five galleons, a whole fortune, a whole life saved with it. Seems fair. Now, you must try the abraxans. They are sweet, no need to kill them now, nobody is going to pay for them – they are valuable alive, not dead."

"Actually, the whole wing costs around five hundred galleons, and the mane is–" She continued, avoiding the part where she had to climb in the horses.

"Okay, that's enough. You have a creepy knowledge about the body parts of creatures and their prices at the Black Market, it has already been proved. Now, get over your creepy speech." Draco stopped her talking. "The Abraxans. Mine is Enbarr and yours is Llamerei."

Hope cautiously climbed onto the mare's back, feeling its bones under her hips. It was a beautiful animal, she had to give in, taller and sturdier than most horses - winged or not - and with large eagle-like wings. Cream fur mixtures with ivory feathers, and a long, curly mane, the same color of the wings. She could feel its lungs inhaling and exhaling under her legs.

"Right, abraxans are semi-sentient beings that are able to grasp their rider's wishes, so…just think and ride." Draco instructed her before taking over his horse. Hope watched as her friend rose up in the sky, vanishing behind the trees with an excited shout.

"See, girl, I want you do the same your friend did, can you do it?" Hope muttered hesitantly. The mare just responded with a huff, shaking her head. Yeah, apparently, abraxan mares were stubborn. Great. Why hadn't Draco left her with the stallion? The witch tried slapping the animal at her rear, as she had saw some riders doing once, action whose effect was just an outraged look from the creature.

Llamerei had started to walk when Draco neared the ground, shouting over the wind: "You have to wish, Hope. Stop being such a wimp!" She stared, affronted at her friend, and Draco felt that if looks could kill, he would be dead near the corpses of his abraxans. "C'mon, we both know that you'll be better than me the moment you get up here."

Smirking at him, Hope found herself wishing strongly that she be up in the sky next to Draco, and in a second, she was in the air. She jerked up in surprise as air was taken from her lungs. As Llamerei rose in the sky, the horizon moved away and the wind turned colder. But there was nothing that could stop the orphan of laughing of the sensation.

Up in the sky, higher than everything.

Like a hawk, watching the world that couldn't touch her.

Running away from the Earth.

OoO

Hope was ten years and five months when she acquired her first wand.

Diagonal Alley had become a dark place in those ten years. When the Empire had celebrated its fifth year, the stores had all closed, and Gringotts was the only working building on the streets. Most shopkeepers had been forced to give their properties to the Emperor, and had fled to the countryside, where work was still available. The windows had been all broken and the shards of glass all swept away by the wind. Before sixth anniversary of the empire, the Dark Lord had sold all the building to dark wizards and now, ten years after the birth of the Empire, Gringotts was the only remaining building of lighter ages. The stores were all now stone buildings, with dark decorated details and octagon widows.

Where Leaky Cauldron used to be, now there was a pub named Moonlace Shadow, Second Hand Brooms had been substituted by Rete Nigrik, a quill shop. Manuscripts & Prints had taken over Flourish & Blotts, while Madam Malkin's had become a Monsieur Maurin's Robes. Obscurus Books had been reopened by a fine dark wizard named Wagner Moon, while Ollivanders Magical Menagerie had been renamed as Pyramus's Magical Creatures, Rosa Lee Teabag had become the Royal Tea Room Aveta. Potage's Cauldron Shop was transformed into Lentis's Aeni Shop, Quality Quidditch Supplies was sold to a man who made it Supplies for Flying Broomsticks. Scribblus Writing Implements had become The Scriptor's Stationer. Theophrastus's Apothecary had taken over Slugs& Jiggers while the Ministry Press had become the Royal Press. Twiltmahl Textures had substituted Twilfitt and Tattings, and Staracre's Equipment had taken over Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. Chocofeather's Market was the new name of Sugarplum's Sweets Shop. The Royal Oracle was the name of the newspaper that had taken over Daily Prophet's main office – and all others printing offices in the empire, as the Empire was the only organization allowed to publish newspapers, magazines or books.

Crearelitus was the name of the dark witch who had received Ollivander's Shop. The Crearelitus' were wandcrafters as ancient as the Ollivanders and until the sixteenth century the two families had battled for being the main provider of wands to Great Britain. When a Goblin War had obliged the Crearelitus ally themselves with a Dark Lord, the family had closed all its shops and hid. Ten years ago, they had mysteriously appeared again, claiming the spoils of war that the Ollivanders had left.

So this was the shop that Hope entered when arriving at Diagonal Alley. The insides were shaped like a round marble chamber, with iron niches that held polished stone boxes. In the center of the room lay a huge round hearth, the blue fire being kept by a brunette, barefoot woman in a white gown with tanned skin, long nose and twinkling amber eyes.

"Hello there, missy. My name is Hestia Crearelitus, I suppose you want a wand?" The woman said to her and her company, a servant named Owen. Owen was a sixteen years teenager who had been taken from his muggle family ten years ago. He had told her he didn't remember them, and if that was true or not, she didn't know. Many mudbloods preferred lying about this, sometimes hoping to lessen the pain of missing their families, others to prevent from being denounced for subversive actions. He had olive skin and chocolate eyes, uneven lips, curly black hair, and was rather strong – nothing that unexpected in a servant.

"Yes, please. What should I do?"

Hope caught easily the honey colored gem the woman threw in her direction. "Just hold it and push some magic into it. Wish for it to break or something like that. It won't actually break, so don't worry. If you have already tested your magical core then this is the same thing, just a bit more precise."

The younger witch nodded. She had already tested her magical core, of course. As an orphan, they were tested every year. If it was weak, they were fated to be slaves or courtesans. Those with controlled levels usually ended up as soldiers or servants. Stronger cores brought you to positions as breeders or high courtesans. Having a controlled core was usually wished on by orphans, as nobody wanted to be a slave or a prostitute. Strong cores, though, weren't that desired, since being a breeder or a high courtesan wasn't the greatest job either. While they both brought more comfort, everyone knew that a breeder was just a witch used to avoid consanguinity and they all died early, killed by vicious owners when they became unable to give birth. High courtesans were just prostitutes to high royalty, and those were usually killed by feuds between lords, or if they survived, they just had too much stories to tell about their clients' depravities.

They had told her she had the strongest magical core they seen, so Hope had always expected to die early; after being used by some disgusting lord.

Holding the warm gem on the palms, Hope just wished for the gem shatter. She knew it wouldn't, those gems were enchanted to test magical cores; and even Merlin himself would be unable to shatter those without his wand. With a wand, though, they were fragile as glass.

Hestia eyes were bright as she collected the stone and hummed appreciative to the results. Hope smirked. She knew her core was huge, and she loved when people recognized it. Now that she wouldn't be raped several times in result of it, she loved it more than ever. The older woman beamed at her before selecting six boxes from the niches.

"Your magic will be balanced with seven, darling. Seven! Such a magical number!" She chanted, before looking at Hope pointedly. "I will need your blood, just some drops." The woman said, pointing to a small cup she had just summoned in front of the hearth.

Hope nodded, not that upset with donating a bit of blood to make her wand. She knew it wasn't common of happening, but she also knew she wasn't the only one who would have a wand mixed with her own blood. The Duke Lestrange had told her he also had, and one benefit of those wands was the fact that they could only be used by the wizard or witch to which they belonged.

"Your wand is very special, my dear." The woman told her, showing her a black branch. "This is ebony wood, very useful to fighters. I will combine it with yew," a rose colored branch "associated with those with power over death and life, and beech," a pale colored branch "to symbolize those who are wise beyond their years. Your blood will be used as a solvent to the cores: some kelpie mane, to revolt spirits; Runespoor Poison, for those who share a destiny with three; and thestral tail hair, for very powerful magicians." As she talked, Hestia held all those items with her left hand.

"Oh, this will be interesting." She told her, wrapping the thestral hair around her hand. "You see, the thestral hair, though very powerful, lacks in loyalty. It changes allegiance as much as I change underwear." The woman confided, not caring about the blushing teenage boy who was listening to their conversation. "Don't worry, I'll obliviate you, boy, after we finish. Information about her wand is too precious to be kept quiet. Well, what I was saying? Oh yes, thestral hair is a bitch, or a whore if you prefer the term, but the blood makes you the only owner of this wand, doesn't it sound interesting?" The woman continued to ramble.

Yes, it really sounded interesting. Hope couldn't help but be a bit worried about her wand's temperament. Could wands have a double personality? Well, could wands have a personality?

Her track of thoughts was interrupted when the woman put her left hand in the fire, keeping it on the flames for around a minute.

Before Hope could decide whether or not to take Hestia's hand out of the fire, the older woman pulled it out herself, now holding a fifteen inches wand in her much burnt hand. "Here it is your wand. Beech, Ebony, Yew, Blood, Kelpie Mane, Runespoor Poison and Thestral Tail Hair, 15 inches and swishy. It will be thirty galleons." She said, healing her hand with a fast spell.

Hope took the wand from the slightly crazy woman's hands, examining it. It was the longest wand she had seen, but very thin, something surprising considering the amount of wood the woman had used. The woods intertwined themselves in long spirals, mostly black, but with thin signs of brown and medium of pale. The handle was very unique, resembling a fleur-de-lis at the end. Very different from Draco's simple wand, or Narcissa's fancy one, or Lucius's snake wand. It was hers. It was beautiful.


	3. Hope means Iris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a great beta named Saharuriot18. Harry Potter isn't mine.

June 5th was the first time Hope celebrated a birthday. Draco's eleventh birthday. Hope was sad to hear that it would be the only time she would be able to celebrate the date with him until he turned nineteen, as he would be celebrating it at Hogwarts until then. Hope wouldn't go to Hogwarts, they had said it was too risked for her, besides, Hogwarts was only for purebloods and even if the Emperor accepted her as a Dame, he wouldn't accept her in his school. Hope didn't care – she had never held any fantasy that she would be able to attend Hogwarts, it's just that she wished that it wasn't a boarding school.

But it was and the next time they would celebrate their birthdays together, it would be his nineteenth and her eighteenth. And maybe, even then they wouldn't. Maybe Draco would have married already and he could prefer to have just an intimate party. Hope was determinated to make this birthday unforgettable.

Well, maybe Draco was going to as well.

The first thing Hope saw when she opened her eyes was a bundle of silver hair, and the first thing she felt when she woke up was a cold, disgusting drool wetting her nightie. Draco had sneaked over her bed during the night and now he was sandwiching her against the sheets. Drooling over her, too. She poked the boys ribs and he jerked up, fully awake as she tickled him.

They rolled over the bed, in a tickle fight nobody could expect an Earl and a Dame to have. It was childish, funny and slightly painful, as Draco didn't control much his fingers when he tried to tickle her. The sheets clung onto their bodies and their knees sank on the soft mattress.

"Stop! Please, Draco! I surrender!" She said, in a particular loud fit of laughs. Draco abandoned her ticklish knees and Hope grinned cheeky at him, attacking his feet mercilessly. "Cheat! Oh Merlin's beards, stop!" He shouted between laughs.

They finally ended up at the end of the battle laying side by side on the bed, their heads turned to each other and their grins plastered onto their faces. Draco's hair was untidy again, but Hope supposed hers wasn't much better. Sometimes she wondered where the image she had of noble – austere, dark people – had gone to. Sure, the world wasn't fair, but just for now, she could forget about the world. She could forget about the time she had spent in fear being raped or killed by another orphan. Or being starved to death because nobody cared.

She felt happy. She had her own bed, her own bedroom, and her own bathroom – and they were huge. The four-poster bed she had received was ten feet wide, larger than the bedroom she had shared with three others girl back in the orphanage, and the bathtub was larger than the bed that the three of them had shared. Her wardrobe had more clothes than all girls of her age in Mordred's House had combined, and the clothing was of a quality that unheard of in any piece of cloth at her former "home."

Her room was bright, with ocean blue velvet curtains covering long widows, ivory stone walls, and Chinese rugs over a wooden floor. There was a Victorian loveseat of the same color as the curtains between two bookcases and an ornate coffee table in front of it. Opposite her bed, there was a chelsea secretary desk with a chair. There was also a dresser beside the glass paned door that lead to the balcony, which had a great view of an unfathomable wood made of ancient grandiose trees with several crystal clear water ponds. Some birds moved in a painting of woods, and a nightingale occasionally sung with the mermaid who inhabited a different painting of a lake.

This had proven to be her happiest memory. Not the long hours they had spent in flying on the Quidditch pitch that day, or the feast after it. It had been an ordinary tickle fight. The feeling of Draco's cold feet tangled in hers, their laughter that filled the space. Since that moment she had known the feeling of belonging to somewhere. It was rather ironic, considering that it had also been the moment that a Malfoy had never been more out of character.

But if Draco could have changed even a bit for her, she could do it. And she had allowed herself to be changed, to be educated. After all, changes were great if they allowed you to survive. At her fifteen years, Hope couldn't recognize the orphan in the mirror, but she could recognize her – Hope. She hadn't been born an orphan, so why should the orphan girl consume her?

She didn't regret what she had become. She had many regrets, like her last fight with Draco, but her own person wasn't one. She knew she was beautiful, not pretty, or sexy, or even gorgeous…just beautiful. Her hair wasn't curly or wavy or straight, it had soft waves on the tips but mostly, it was just silky-ink. Her skin was pale, softer than you would expect of someone that fought sword battles weekly. She had almond-shaped eyes with long lashes and emerald green orbs and Cupid's bow rose lips. Her face had an elfish shape and her nose was delicate, a bit snub. Her body was tiny, but she couldn't be fooled by the soft curves it showed off, she knew she had muscle under it.

With her body only covered by a petticoat, Hope searched for a fitting gown in her closet. It wasn't that difficult, a servant named Eleanor had arranged it for her long ago, separating the clothing in sections. Choosing a sleek, simple, but elegant dark gown and some heels, she arranged her hair in a loose bun, her wand holster in her left arm. She was going to meet Draco at Knight Cross Station, as Narcissa and Lucius were too occupied to pick their son. Tomorrow, it would be the Yule Ball at the Royal Palace, the first time she was allowed to attend it, and so her second time total at the palace. Hope couldn't remember much of the Palace, she had only been conferred dame-hood there, at ten, and had left right away. Actually, she couldn't remember the face of the Emperor, so she had to trust in the rumors of him having a snake-like face. She still found it a bit uncreditable of someone having such features, but she couldn't really ask the Malfoys. The Dark Lord was always worshipped in the Malfoy Manor, and a commentary of some not-so-supportive words about him would bring weird glances at you.

"Errin," she called to a house-elf. "I'm going to apparate to King's Cross. Can you inform your Grace that I have left?"

The house-elf nodded and Hope manipulated the wards to let her apparate to a dirty, shadowed alley in Muggle London, near King's Cross Station.

The Muggle World, also known as Mud World. Fifteen years before, when the Emperor had taken over Great Britain and Ireland, most of the muggles had suffered his wrath. Small towns vanished through the magical plagues sent to them, or slaughtered by raids. The whole muggle populace of the British Isles was now centered in the big cities - London, Manchester, Birmingham, Leeds, Glasgow, Edinburg, Dublin, Belfast and Cork. And while the Wizarding Britain was in its most prosperous stage ever in history, the same couldn't be said of its muggle counterpart. The surviving cities were crowded, and the fact that nobody wanted to make business with such unfortunate countries didn't help with the economy. Unemployed was the adjective used to describe most muggle citizens (but miserable was also suitable), and fog was always present in the urban areas. As a beggar grabbed her gown pleading for money, Hope just spelled the man's hands away from her and continued her way to Station.

The Wizarding World was evidently better, much better. While one would think that most nations would fear dealing with a dictator, nobody could deny that the Emperor had charisma and offered the most considerate dealings. The fact that he would kill anybody who stood against him helped, as did the fact that Britain had always been one of the richest nations of the Magical Community. It was counterproductive go against them and now, fifteen years after the last Halloween anyone had celebrated in Britain, Voldemort ruled directly over it, and indirectly over the rest of the world.

She nodded to the wizards and witches that knew her and she didn't care much about - light or neutral purebloods that, while had never supported the Dark Lord before his reign, had been allowed to keep their dignity since the Emperor couldn't just rule over a bunch of Death Eaters. Half-bloods hadn't been subjugated too, but they didn't attend Hogwarts. There were smaller schools of magic here or there for them. With the reign of Voldemort, many foreign witches and wizards had migrated to Britain; the offer of the largest spaces to do magic and a smaller muggle populace to be cautious around bribing them. To dark wizards, just the fact that blood magic, rune magic, and dark magic was encouraged was enough. They were attracted to Voldemort like insects to a light. Light and the Emperor, Hope smirked at the thought as she greeted a dark couple with a curtesy.

The woman had been in the lower ranks of Death Eaters and the male had rewarded with the title of Sir. Technically, they all had similar positions in the Empire, but that was upstaged by the fact she was the Malfoy's protégée and part of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

She washed the crowd with an attentive look, finally locating her best friend and brother in the middle of it, his silver hair capturing and the light of the station, surrounded by allies. Walking steadily to him she dropped her body in low, mocking curtesy. "Earl Malfoy, such a pleasure."

He looked at her, his smile displaying amusement and excitement before bowing in the same fashion. "Dame Black, the pleasure is mine. May I kiss your hand?" He asked with a cheeky grin, grabbing her hand and with a pull, his hands on her waist, lifting her up in a tight hug. Hope wrapped her arms around his head and kissed his hair lovingly, her legs tangled around his back, the two of them ignoring the looks of Draco's housemates around them. "I missed you, missed you so much." Draco whispered into her shoulder, swinging her a bit in soothing pace.

"Me too, Dray. Love you." She mumbled in his ear before stepping on the ground again, her grin changing to a smirk to the astonished faces staring at them. "Hey, folks. How was the semester?" She asked, being blinded by a blur of sandy blonde hair; its owner hugging her tightly.

"Sometimes I've to doubt that you had a manners tutor. But then, I remember you at the parties. Circe, someday your etiquette teacher will be venerated together with Morgana and Merlin." Lady Daphne Greengrass, a blonde girl with curvy figure and ocean green eyes commented, snorting at her.

"He died of heart attack when I went to hunt right after he said he was finally finished with me." Hope told her with a serious expression, making the others laugh. "Where is your girlfriend, Draco? I'm not seeing her here."

"We broke up. It wasn't working anymore."

"Oh, but Pansy is such a sweet girl! Admit it, she got tired of your prick-ness." She laughed at the huff of indignation of the Slytherin wizard and went to greet the rest of the group. "Earl Theodore, Lady Isadore, how is the fifth year going? Draco was anguished last year, but he is a bit wimpy. Lady Astoria, you need to warn your sister about the intensity of her hugs. They are going to kill me someday."

"I recommend you to stop hugging Draco if that is the case, Dame Black." Astoria joked. "Oh, but he hugs so well." She whined, making Draco blush and her smirk widened. "Lord Zabini, how is your mother? I haven't seen her in a while. But I saw little Lady Leila last week at the Macmillians. She is such a cute child."

"Don't let her deceive you. She is a little devil, Lady Hope."

"I must agree with Blaise." Daphne said. "His sister is going to kill me. His brother is going to be a fine man, though. Cute boy, that one. I would marry him if he wasn't twelve years younger."

"She is stealing my allies again. Morgana, you weren't like that some years ago. What happened?" Draco asked as he pulled her again to his side.

"I got lonely. You abandoned me to go to Hogwarts, and I was left with a bunch of adults who think that hunting is unladylike, and they made me study eighteen hours per day. Do you study that much in Hogwarts or it's just me?"

"It's just you, Hope." Damon Moreau answered, spinning the girl in the air as soon as she hugged him. "It's nice to see you, Earl Malfoy has been keeping information about you from us the whole semester." They all laughed as Hope punched softly Draco in his arm. "Oh Dray, why did you do it?"

"Because he is a pain in the arse?" Damon offered. Damon was different from them; his family was a pureblood noble family from France that had come to England when Voldemort had started his reign. He didn't have a title in Britain because of that, but in the times when Magical France was still ruled by emperors, the Moreau family was a family of princes. They had to give their titles away when the muggles had started the French Revolution, dealing with fanatical revolutionaries that had killed the whole muggle royalty was insanity and was still a bitter matter to wizards and witches. Most still regarded the families as nobles. Because of this, while Damon was supposedly of a lower class among them, he was still treated as a noble, and always invited to feasts and balls. After Draco, he had been the first one to meet her, in a tea party in the MacDougals. They had hit off very quickly.

"Sorry, Day. I should have written to you and not to Dray." She told him, making Draco grasp her hand. "Thank you, Lord Moreau, for taking Hope away from me but now, you see, we must go. We have to go to the Manor."

"Indeed, Draco is right. We must go. I will see you all tomorrow?" She asked.

"Yes, Hope. All of them are going to be there." Draco responded for the others, dragging her along with him, to the amusement of his allies. Hope grinned at him, knowing very well she had pissed him off with Damon. Draco was rather protective of her, like a child that refused to share a toy, and all of them knew that Lord Moreau lusted after her – few were those that didn't. He had once told her that as soon as she entered on the age of courtship, he was going to ask Lucius's permission to court her. The age of courtship started when she attend her first royal ball, in other words, tomorrow. Actually, she knew the Moreaus had already asked for an engagement contract, she didn't know if Lucius had accepted, but that was common – the Malfoys never revealed to whom they were engaged before their seventeen birthday. Before they reached magical maturity.

She didn't know Draco's, but she knew the others. Daphne was to be married with Blaise, and Astoria would be married with Theodore. His sister, Isadore, was engaged with Stephen Cornfoot. Everyone presumed that the Black dame would marry Damon, and most knew that Pansy was engaged to Draco's cousin, Earl Arcturus Caelum Lestrange.

"What are you thinking about?" Draco asked after they apparated in front of the Manor's gates. With a flick of his wand, the property recognized his magic and the iron gates swung open. His hands searched for hers and they started to walk through the French gardens, the snow in the ground sinking under their feet.

"How those peacocks survive in this cold?" She inquired, pointing to the several albino peacocks that Lucius kept on the Malfoy lands. Draco snorted at her question. "You know as well as I do that Alba Reyne, Maurus, Charis Avaro, Isis Boyne, Caerwyn, Dhaval, Eljin Gunn, Irvin Laban and Wynn have warming charms on their bodies."

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, where all peacocks have names and all residents know them." She mocked. "Easy to see who named you, Draco. Irvin Laban? Charis Avaro? Dhaval? Seriously? They are worse than Draco."

"My mother named me and you also know that. All Black descendants are named after stars, as you also were." Hope snickered in response to his words. "You couldn't hope to have a decent name then, Draco."

"You speak as if Hope is such a great name. I mean, what if you get depressed and commit suicide? Would people engrave 'Hopeless' in your grave? And don't you even get me started on your second name, Lyra, a star name just slightly better than Draco. "

"Hey, I resent that. But I admit that Draco isn't such a bad name." She said, satisfied that she had successfully diverted Draco's attention. The witch liked to test if she was still able to manipulate Draco, it was cute on his part to let himself be. "So, why did you break up with Pansy?"

"She is going to get married with Arty anyway, we found it counterproductive."

"So, she left you alone today because you had a friendly break up. You must really be an asshole for people just stay with you because you shag well. I'm sorry for her, actually, the thought of having Bella as your mother-in-law is scaring. Arty is sweet guy, though somehow I find difficult to believe he is his mother's son. Rigel and Lacerta are more believable, really more."

Lord Rigel and Lady Lacerta Lestrange were the fourteen years old twins of Duke Rodolphus and Duchess Bellatrix Lestrange, and they were sane as their mother. In other words, they probably didn't understand what the concept of sane was. If Hope was going to point two future threats to society, she would point at them. They weren't Slytherins, determined by their sense of self-preservation and fraternity, but were Ravenclaws, famous for creativity and wit and she could see those characteristics in them. They were very useful with their perverse minds.

"If you are going to answer your own questions, and prevent me from answering by changing the subject whenever I try to, then why did you ask them?" He asked, opening the door of the manor for her and picking a small bag of his pockets. With a twist of his wand, a trunk appeared from the bag. The two of them ignored the trunk, the house-elves would take it away. "Will my parents have dinner with us?"

"No, Narcissa is organizing the Charity Ball of Rowan and Lucius is at the Palace. Regarding my questions I must say that I know you are lying, but don't see any reason to you tell the truth." She winked to him. "I just need some of your reactions to know the truth."

"Congrats, you know how to read people, little minx."

Hope stopped on her track, turning to look at Draco and touching his chest sensually, massaging it with soft touches. His reaction was immediate, his breath hitching higher and his eyes half closed. With a light blow of her legs, she tripped him.

As Draco fell to the ground, Hope grinned at him, saying "Just you, Dray," before running away from his wrath. Laughing from the noises she heard behind her back, Hope conjured some books, chairs, and boxes, making Draco trip and swerve to avoid the object as she made her way to the west wing. Both of them knew she didn't need those obstacles to win, but it was still funny to watch him struggle to follow her.

It almost a ritual now. Every time Draco returned they would chase each other, or have a wand duel, or a sword duel, or race with Enbarr and Llamerei. After this, they would spend time together, practically glued to each other. Their manners together had already been berated, but still, they couldn't drop it.

She rushed into the room, slamming the door behind her and dropping her body on the rug. The west lounge was a small room they had claimed as theirs at twelve. It had copper walls and a brown marble floor, the brownish dome ceiling with details in gold. The loveseats and armchairs were made of red velvet and dark wood, a dark and long coffee table rested on a red Persian rug. There was a large fireplace in front of the table and a bookcase near it. A grand piano stood in the farthest corner - a window with the view of a clearing given light to the room.

The room was masculine, but it fit both of them. Draco was a boy and while Hope could act as a woman, she had a tomboyish soul. Books, photos, magazines, journals, artefacts, and trophies of their adventures were all over the room, because while the elves had permission to clean, they were instructed to keep everything in the room at the same place. Neither Draco nor Hope had messy habits, but the two of them agreed that the room looked better that way.

When the Earl Malfoy arrived at the room, he found his friend with her head leaning on the loveseat, and a meal in front of her. The dinner was simple, but he liked it. He knew that while the house elves had set the table, Hope had cooked the food herself. Whenever they ate alone, she cooked for them. She loved to cook, according to her it was one of the only chores she liked at the orphanage.

They would eat mushrooms stuffed with cheese, a shepherd's pie and an apple pie, and curry. The fact she had taken her time to cook always warmed him. "You know that the healthier option is to say that you love my food . Or else…" She repeated the phrase she always said to him when she cooked.

He grinned at her, sitting on the loveseat and serving himself with a bit of everything, and then just a bit more of the mushrooms. He loved those. "No treacle tart? What happened with your favorite?"

"Indigestion. I ate five slices in an hour yesterday. Olivia made me promise to keep those away for two days, but it's killing me. I have taken a liking in curry though, and I need to be rewarded for my cooking skills, even while I'm unable to appreciate my favorite." She explained, taking a bite of her food and smiling. "Decent."

"It's great, Hope. Better than most house-elves can do, and they're house-elves." Draco praised sincerely. She just shrugged in response, setting her head on his lap, her eyes staring at his. "Remember the first time you showed me this place?"

"It was infested by cobwebs, and the piano was broken. There was what? Seven boggarts hiding here? It was disgusting." He commented. The witch just shook her head in agreement, readying herself to mock him. "Indeed, I couldn't believe that the Malfoys had a part of the manor abandoned. I liked the cobwebs by the way, it hurt my heart to take them away, but you were a wuss so we had to."

"You said you liked my boggart." He commented, ignoring the insult. He knew very well that it wasn't real. A warm smile spread on her face, her eyes shining lovingly. "Yeah…being included with your parent's corpses is touching…Is that selfish of me? I loved it, even if it was me dead. Even if it brought you panic. I relished in your panic, is it wretched as it sounds like? I felt welcomed." He nodded in understanding, avoiding mentioning her fear.

Different from Hope, the thought of the girl's boggart – an image of herself alone and helpless at the death's door, humiliated and bloodied, scared and weakened – wasn't welcome to him. While his fear spoke of love, her fear spoke of her miserable life.

She closed her eyes, her long lashes shivering slightly as she curled her body near his legs. He caressed her hair, tangling his hands on her soft strands, the sublime smell of irises wafting up from them. "I have always associated irises with you, ya know Hope? They are the flowers of wisdom, faith, hope. To the Chinese, they are the dancing spirits of summer and butterflies."

She hummed and he could tell she had a mood killer comment to make – she always had one. Probably call him a pansy or something like that. Draco leaned down, his lips brushing hers hesitantly, not knowing how she would react. She breathed a small gasp before slowly responding to his clumsy attempt. That was all the incentive he needed to press his lips harshly against hers. Under it, her smirk widened and she guided him deeper into her mouth, her hands holding his hair steadily as his left one held her face, the right sliding down her neck.

They continued the kiss for some minutes before pulling away, their breaths hitched and husky. They both cracked their necks, to each other's amusement. "I can go up to you if you want." She offered with a hint of smirk. "Come here then." He commanded, just waiting for her to sit down again before attacking her mouth. Their tongues moved forward a little bit and then receded, their lips moving and smacking.

"You have bad breath." Hope informed him when they ended the kiss, drying the saliva of her chin with a napkin. "I was eating. You have it too."

She chuckled. "I know. But you did it. Congrats. I want my share, how much money is it?"

"You knew it?" He asked in surprise. "They told you!"

"About the bet? No, I just guessed it after seeing Theo and Blaise trading meaningful glances with you. You just confirmed it. About you having a crush on me? I had no idea until today, actually. It's quite humiliating considering, it must have been going on for a while now. You breaking up with Pansy was a real eye opener."

"I guess you are still the Draco Malfoy expert, then." He joked to Hope's mirth. "Of course I'm obsessed by you. Do you still want my food or just my lips? There is a spell to bad breath and we both know it."

"Oh yeah. Remember the time when we found it? We were disgusted. Now I feel quite glad for picking up that book." Hope laughed with him, purposely forgetting to inform him that he had been the only one disgusted.

Draco hadn't been her first kiss, obviously. He was the first person she kissed in ten years, but not her first kiss. When she was little and couldn't survive just on her own, she would usually trade kisses with older children and even adults. Hateful, but necessary.

He kissed her once again before they curled against each other with plates on their laps and their heads against each other. Hope would kiss his jaw and neck and feel his shiver of lust and he would trail kisses along her shoulders. That night, Hope felt asleep on Draco's lap, a smile on her lips and her happiest memories replaying in her dreams.


	4. Hope is in the viper's embrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Ginny, Harry! Sorry for the delay! Here is another chapter, I'm an attention seeker so if you can comment, kudo, or bookmark, I will love it!  
> This chapter was beta-ed by Saharuriot18, thank you!

People say that fifteen years ago, the Royal Palace was nothing more than a pile of rocks. It was the ruins of what once had been a less-pompous and dark castle than the one Hope had seen. Calling the Royal Palace a palace or a castle was actually an imprecise definition – similar to calling a giant wolf a puppy. The Royal Palace was a citadel, with the highest dark towers one had ever seen and rock cliffs that ended into darkness. Several bridges connected the main body of the castle to the surrounding lands, and the heads of the enemies of the State were always exposed on stakes situated on the high walls, conserved by a charm. Within the past fifteen years, many of them had accumulated, and all of them were fully exposed in their bloody glory. At the center of the walls, was the heads of those in the Order of Phoenix, the greatest enemies of the Emperor. Everyone was taught to despise them at the schools – Albus Dumbledore, Edgar Bones, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, Emmeline Vance, Dorcas Meadows, Sturgis Podmore, Benjy Fenwick, Elphias Dodge, Caradoc Dearborn, and James and Lily Potter. There were those still on the run – Sirius Black, Alastor Moody, Dedalus Diggle, Remus Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall and Aberforth Dumbledore. 

Those in the higher classes never talked about the Traitors of Magic, neither did the populace, which was mostly kept in oblivious about such matters, but Hope knew some stories. You didn't spend your whole childhood in the Black Market without acquiring information, and neither did you spend your whole womanhood tangled in political parties without hearing the juicy gossips. And in this case, the juice was red and tasted like iron. The favorite targets of these gossips were Albus Dumbledore and his brother, who had had rather dark boyhoods; Gideon and Fabian Prewett whose sister was still alive with a very large family; Frank Longbottom, whose mother was Augusta Longbottom, a traditional pureblood grey witch who had created their son, a boy called Neville if she remembered well and a Gryffindor duelist. There were still those people named Marauders, James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin – two of them dead and two currently on the run. Potter was an extinct pureblood family, while Evans had been a mudblood witch. Black had betrayed his family's beliefs and joined the Light Side on the war, while everyone knew that Lupin was a werewolf. Although everybody avoided the subject of the Order of Phoenix, everyone had their ears open whenever the subject arose in conversations.

Back to the castle, while the exterior was rather dark, the interior of it was still easily considered the darkest place in the world. The walls and floors were made of black marble, and the high domes of the ceiling seemed to steal all the rest of light that came weakly from the lancet windows with spiraled mullions. Jambs held moving sculptures of the Gods of Magic in the side-galleries. The black flag of the Empire - the symbol once known as Dark Mark - was on everything. And the same happened to the Slytherin crest – it was in the capitals of columns, in the moldings, in the finials, and in the baldachins.

Stone vipers danced in the gambles of the arches. Hope had heard that the Emperor had a tower that housed thousands snakes, and she couldn't stop wishing to see them. Since forever she had always had a fascination with those creatures. They were very sassy and quite lazy. She knew that Lord Voldemort was the master of several, and she was a bit curious about it. Before hearing about it, she had never thought a snake would follow the orders of another.

Hope followed the nobles of Malfoy through the palace. Her robes were an empire-waited ivory sleeveless gown and a heavy black cloak embroidered in black with a tail that had her constantly tripping over it, especially when she walked down the stairs. That had made Draco laugh, as it was the first time in years she walked without any display of grace. Because of that, he was wincing slightly as he walked beside her.

"Did you have to push so hard?" He whispered to her, his hand trying not to massage his back, which was obviously in pain because of his "fall". He wore a double breasted high neck black jacket that ended near his knees, a black over cape that flowed in the air as he walked, silk trousers, and lace-up boots. She grinned at him. "You dig your own grave. Maybe I can pay you later?"

"I'll much appreciate it." He whispered to her before looking to his parents. Seeing them nod, they left the older couple and walked to the antechamber where all teenagers were supposed to wait.

The adults would enter first in the ballroom, probably set the ground to their heirs and heiresses before they were presented. As an earl, Draco would be one of the first ones to enter, probably together with Arty and soon after Ronald Jugson-Lestrange's son, Reynold. As a dame, she was in the lowest rank of nobility – though she was socially elevated by her status as Black and Malfoy, but still – and hence, she would be one of the last to enter. Looking at the dresses, she could tell she was actually the only Dame in the room, as she was the only to wear white as a dress.

There were the two Macmillian boys, sons of the late Macmillian lord, a baronet, in the same deep red of Vincent and Gregory; Isobel and Morag MacDougal that wore the green colors of a vidame together with Matthew Rosier and his cousin, Leanna. Blaise, Daphne, Theo, Rey, Isadore and Millicent were in the blue colors of the heir of a Marquis. As countess, Pansy and Eyra Selwyn wore the black gowns, as did their male counterparts, Draco, Arty and Ivan Dolohov. Near them stood Damon, in the light grey robes of foreign royalty – his tanned skin contrasting against the fabric, his blue eyes shining with mirth.

"Is it just me that has the sensation of being the black sheep?" She questioned him, pointing to her own gown, that clearly stated that she wasn't a real noble, but someone who had received the title. It was all conceited crap, evidently, as they weren't born nobles too – Voldemort still hadn't won the war when they were born, so during that time they had just been part of the rich, old, pureblood families, but that's all. Damon snickered beside her. "Black. You did notice that you are wearing white, yes? You look great by the way."

"Thanks. When are you going to enter?"

"After you."

"Oh...you are going to keep me company? Thanks, I was going to get so lonely without you." She grinned to the wizard, leaving him looking to her swinging hips as she trailed after Draco, beaming at the others nobles. Daphne was telling them about a prank Blaise had played on Theo. The two Nott siblings were pleased to narrate the reactions of their parents when the Heir of Nott arrived at home with his hair shocking pink and his robes in an outrageous orange color.

She just leaned her head in Draco's shoulders and he tangled his fingers in hers, brushing his lips against her hand back - action that didn't go unnoticed by his housemates. Draco shrugged and captured her lips in a chaste kiss. Hope smirked against the soft surface and obliged the action, ignoring the catcalls.

Then Draco left, accompanied by Arty - with whom Hope had barely had time to trade smiles with - Ivan, Eyra and Pansy – the last mentioned seeming a bit hurt with her actions, Hope could only hope she didn't resent her. Gradually, the young nobles left the antechamber, putting on their cold and unaffected masks before walking through the doors. They were all instructed to descend the staircase, and following that, they were supposed to walk to the throne and greet the Emperor. After that, they were to walk to their left and then mingle in the crowd.

Soon, only she and Damon remained. They sat in front of each other, he with a closed off expression, and she playing with the cloak catch absent-mindedly. She was a bit nervous about meeting the person who had condemned all muggleborn to disgrace, killed over a million of muggles, was one of the only people in the empire who knew her true identity - the only one outside her family, and the most powerful person of the whole empire and, possibly, the world.

"So, you and Malfoy are together." He trailed off. Hope eyed him carefully, he seemed a bit angered, but she couldn't tell if it was an anger directed to her or not. His Heir Ring, with which he had been toying, fell from his hand, rolling on the floor to a corner. He swore and Hope summoned the jewelry without her wand.

It was pretty, if not a little flashy. The ring was made of white gold and had a huge onyx on its center, with a smaller dark diamonds around it. It was feminine-looking, but she had heard that all rings of French families were. The English rings were very plain, normally just a band of gold, silver or bronze - depending on the Hogwartian the family claimed alliance to - with their House's crest engraved on it. Hope gave the ring to him. "Yeah…Draco sort of confessed everything yesterday."

"How to feel about him? Are you going to marry him?"

"He is my best friend and confident, and both of us are attracted to each other. I love him." Hope had never really understood the meaning of love. She knew many people drew a difference between being in love and loving; she couldn't see it. She knew the idea of being in love with Draco didn't work for her. She could survive without him, but his presence kept her living like she did. The perfect love, wasn't it just a great friendship and the feeling of companionship that brought the benefits of having a family and sex? "Marrying him…that is an uncertainty. I don't think Duke And Duchess Malfoy would agree with the idea at the moment. No, probably not."

Oh, she knew that both Narcissa and Lucius liked her and, most importantly, trusted her. But while they called her promising and great, there were no benefits in Draco marrying her. Everything she owned was given to her by them. Well, she had acquired her own money, but the Malfoys had more money than all the light families in Britain together. They didn't need money, but they could work with more prestige. Not that they lacked it, but prestige wasn't something you could ever get enough of.

"You could be with me. I can assure that we could get married."

"I won't leave someone just because I cannot get married with him. Many relationships don't end in a weeding, but that doesn't mean that they aren't precious. I love him in my own way, and I love him very much." She explained to him with harsh words, but a soft voice.

"You could learn to love me." He mumbled and she nodded. She liked him, but she wasn't going to invest in a relationship with him. Hope could learn to love him, but she wasn't going to and as a gentleman he was obligated to accept her will; he didn't have the power to intervene. If he was Lucius, on the other hand, he could declare her as a crazy woman and intern her in an asylum. And if he convinced Lucius that her marriage in the Moreau family was a benefit to the Malfoys…their conversation would be meaningless. "You should go. Circe knowns that after Lord Crabbe you will be an oasis in the desert."

She grinned to him, while walking to the doors. "And you will be a great disappointment after me?"

Behind her back, he nodded. "I got unlucky."

Somehow, she didn't feel he was talking about the ball at all. 

* * *

The ballroom was lighter than the rest of the palace, she supposed, but that wasn't saying much. With a glass dome as ceiling, Hope presumed that the structure which looked like a spider's cobweb allowed a great amount of light in during the day. Aside that, the room was fairly dark, the arches and columns ended at the dome, creating rib vaults. Everything was a polished shade of black, from the floor to the walls to the ceiling. A large double staircase followed part of the wall. The lights from the enormous chandelier reflected off of the dark shades of green of the dome and the silk samples that followed columns to the dome. Around the chamber, there were several floor chandeliers. Sitting at the center of everything, was him.

It was a known fact that the Emperor didn't have to worry about heirs; he was immortal. How he had done it, nobody knew, but people knew he couldn't die. When she had first heard about it, Hope had doubted. Even at that time she had known of the existence of things such as the Philosopher Stone, but not about something that could really prevent your death indefinitely. It was unheard of. But now she looked to the Emperor, she couldn't help but consider that maybe her grandchildren would actually wander in the lands governed by the same lord in front of her.

Voldemort looked…young. Well, not truly young as the day he had been born; but no more than thirty. And while his age wasn't a known fact, people would say he should be at least fifty. Someone younger than twenty couldn't have possibly arranged his followers into such an organized group all those years ago – that was a clear fact to the foreigners that discussed about it. The Death Eaters had been around since 1970s, and if you associated the group called Knights of Walpurgis with them (as most did), then they existed since the 50s. Rabastan had once let slip that his father had been one of his first followers since a very young age. Hope knew that Reginald Lestrange had died in 1969 at the age of forty-one. He would be sixty-eight that year, which lead Hope to believe Voldemort had a similar age, or maybe even older.

But the man in the mean-looking throne had a shiny, silky and ink-black hair, his body was ghostly-pale, slender, and his face was sharp, with full lips, high cheekbones, long face, thin almond eyes with crimson orbs, and a slightly aquiline nose. He wore royal robes with extravagant furs that she couldn't quite tell if they matched very well with him or not. It was strange, his clothing didn't look like those that might befit his particular personality, but she also couldn't point out anything wrong with it. The same to his whole appearance; he wasn't ugly, no she supposed he was rather handsome, but the adjective didn't fit him. The Emperor felt empty, as if he was just an image she had to judge as beautiful or ugly.

As she bowed deeply to him, she could feel him his eyes leering on her. But the eyes of a painting would have more alive than his. There were no words to be said. They were supposed to just let their occlumnecy walls down and, if the Emperor felt like invading their minds, he would do so. If he wanted them to talk, he would ask a question. Everything else was superfluous.

She felt something outside her mind walls, and she lowered them. Voldemort wandered for a while in her superficial thoughts, trying to catch her thoughts of him. As soon as he entered on her mind, the Emperor noticed that there weren't any ill intentions, or any good thoughts about him either. There weren't any impressions about him at all.

Feeling he retreat and dismiss her, Hope rose up and walked to the side, where Draco had settled himself near his parents. As soon as Damon finished his presentation, they'd all be free to walk around the ballroom, engage some small talks and dance. They had their arms crossed on their backs, but Draco grabbed her hand with a graceful movement and smirked to her. They watched as Damon bowed to the Emperor and the Dark Lord declared that it was an honor to have a foreign prince in his empire.

They were soon free to sugarcoat all the others nobles, swirling around the chamber, greeting and talking about nothing. Hope was talking with Duke Rabastan and Viscount Bartemius, two of the most eligible bachelors of the empire. Stan, as she had taken to calling Rabastan since she was twelve, hadn't changed anything in those six years. He still had that wild, long hair and wore the leather clothing. Barty had a classic look, with slim features and elegant robes. Both of them were in their early thirties.

"And how is Lady Rosier, my lord? I heard she is quite lovely. Pity her fragile state prevents her of attending these balls." She asked, remembering his recent engagement with Charis Rosier, goddaughter of Duke Maurus's Rosier.

"Charis is very fragile, indeed. She has taken a liking in drawing. Do you have any hobbies, Dame Black? I heard you have superb skills in magic, something specific?"

"I find Transfiguration very useful, I must say. Aside that, I afraid I can only point hunting as my favorite activity." Actually, she could also point flying, playing Quidditch, fighting, training and runes, but none of those were activities reserved to ladies. While hunting was usually associated with bloodshed, it was still an acceptable pastime for ladies because of the social events centered around it. Horse racing was also acceptable to watch, but not to physically partake in the race.

"You should visit my dukedom. There are many animals that you can only find in Scottish woods. I found a Phoenix feather on a tree recently. Amazing animals, the phoenixes. If they weren't so vicious they would be rather useful." Rabastan told them.

"Are you going to the Creatugicarel Auction? I heard Mister Rabior found a nundu. Those are truly fine creatures…impossible to tame, but every creature enthusiast is going to try to." Barty exclaimed. "I heard a ship carrying runespoors has vanished in the Mediterranean. Frankly, I told Castor that he should try using portkeys, but he insists in using ships. Anyone with a flying rug or a broomstick could rob it."

Hope laughed. "Oh, Barty, but you don't want to share your flying rug with runespoors, do you?" Rabastan joined in to her laughing fit as Bartemius denied such a statement immediately. A lady with golden skin and brunette waves approached them. A seductive smile playing on her lips, her cleavage showing just enough to attract interest, and on her curvy body an aqua green gown that spoke of an innocence she didn't have. Belinda Zabini.

"Oh Hope, are you keeping all the handsome boys to yourself? Have you ever heard of sharing?" She asked, kissing Hope's two cheeks before pulling away. "Or is the truth that the boys are keeping the bloomed flower to themselves?"

"Lady Belinda, have you come to grace us with your presence? I'm afraid that I and Viscount Crouch are the ones that stole the flower."

"This flower is very pleased to have been stolen. How are you, Lady Zabini? I heard about your wedding in Santorini, sublime they say. Young Lord Blaise said you were a vision. I must agree, though I'm sure the photos don't make value to reality."

"Oh, Dame Black, you have become such a charmer…I would marry you myself if that was allowed." She winked at her. "While same-gender marriages are still outrageous I will content myself with Colum." They laughed. "He had to stay at Wales, sadly. He has been feeling a bit unwell since yesterday."

They all snorted, without wishing for his health. At the court, it was a common knowledge that nobody survived a marriage with Belinda Zabini for more than one year. And take survive to the literal meaning - Belinda had the deadly hobby of poisoning her lovers. If Colum Faster was already feeling unwell after two months of marriage, he couldn't be that good in bed. The fact was, Hope and everyone else knew Colum would be dead, even he probably knew. Sometimes she had to wonder how people could still propose Belinda Zabini, but the bride must be worth the deadly end of the union Hope supposed.

Zabini - the name of her first husband, Blaise's father. A sixty year old man when he died years ago, he was rumored to be the only man Belinda Zabini had ever loved (the fact she still used his surname even after her other marriages was a sign), but even the fact that she had loved him hadn't made her think twice before finding a lover and then killing her new husband in a fit of jealously. She had never dealt an affair while married after that.

While Bartemius told them about his engagement - apparently, Charis had a large dowry and Lady Rosier had been gifted with unicorns, winged-horses, ancient artifacts, centenary jewels; all by her lovingly fiancée - Severus Snape approached them and asked to dance with her and, as a newcomer, she was obliged to accept.

Baron Snape wasn't a bad dancer - if not a bit stiff. They waltzed two songs, their eyes staring into each other. He didn't bring any conversation to their interaction and Hope didn't try to. Severus Snape was a man of few words; the renowned Royal Potions Master, undefeated bachelor, and recognized misanthrope. It was self-explanatory that he wasn't someone to bother. Actually, this might be the first time someone ever heard of Severus Snape inviting a person to dance.

The story of the life of that man was unheard of. While Snape wasn't a Wizarding surname, Severus certainly wasn't muggleborn. A half-blood, most people called him. He had never married, or been in any kind of relationship. He would often write public articles about potions or dark arts in the continent, but he wasn't part of any guild. While he was excellent in potions, everyone knew his true love was for the dark arts.

Severus had the potential to be a sexy man, if not pretty. With his slightly crooked nose and charming lips, Hope could bet his smile was handsome…but she had doubts that someone had ever even seen it. She didn't know much about him, but she watched his face attentively while he led her through the ballroom.

"You were spending too much time with Crouch and Lestrange. Your duty is to charm as many wizards and witches you can. Try those." Were the only words he uttered to her, just before leaving Hope with Marquis Selwyn.

Belá Selwyn lived in the north of Scotland with his wife and their children - two girls of the age of four and seven. He spoke about an orphanage burnt in a fire near his castle. At the expressions of horror of those who heard about the story, Hope couldn't help her thoughts about the falseness of all those around her - they had done similar things fifteen years ago. But the image of children locked in their bedrooms made Hope walk away before doing anything.

While she never had friends in the orphanage, or felt pity for the children she had grown up with while she also lived there, after Hope had left Mordred's House her thoughts often returned to those who had never had the same chances she had. She remembered a little girl that had arrived at the orphanage three days before Hope's depart. The girl's mother was a mudblood servant who had rebelled over the empire and tried to kill Marquis Nott. The mother was executed after poisoning a guard and her daughter was sent to the nearest orphanage. The girl had been an innocent soul, her eyes shivering with fear and her hands trembling in panic. Mr. Spinff had told Hope that the girl would never become anything more than a slave. Everything else was too dangerous, as it would require the girl to have some proximity with purebloods, and with her mother's past. It wasn't an option.

It was the little girl with no future that might have already become a slave now whose body Hope imagined to be burning, cornered between pieces of a fallen ceiling. She shivered at the thought. Her feet moved through the dance floor numbly, walking to near the walls where she knew she wouldn't hinder the dancing pairs. She didn't felt like dancing anymore, but as a newcomer she was obliged to accept every invitation she received. She had to get away from the ballroom, get some air. She knew she wasn't supposed wander around the palace, and it was foolish to do so - she had doubts she would be pardoned if someone found her lost in the dungeons. But she also knew she was allowed to if she stayed close to the ballroom for a while. Surely more than an hour wouldn't be highly recommended, as the emperor enjoyed having his sycophants fluttering around him. Maybe she would be able to take a peek of the Serpentine Tower.

Her eyes searched for Draco in the crowd but there was no sign of him. Near her, she heard some people talking about the niece of Lord Avery, who had been found dead after being kidnapped. A man said that Lord Avery had refused to pay for the ransom the kidnappers asked. Hope heard the fake gasps of some woman, but everyone could also listen to the sickness of their voices, their personalities. It was there for everyone to notice, their coldness. And they talked about orphans being burnt with a poisoned amusement, they talked about the dead daughter of their peers with a deadly calm voice, they rejoiced on the other's misery, and thanked Morgana that their lives were still intact.

She felt suffocated by those voices.

Opening one of the many side-doors of the chamber, Hope walked across the passageways, her fast steps echoing through the marble floor. Her hand roamed in her hair, taking away the hair pins that held her hair in an elegant bun. She had been one of those children. She was in a world where the same woman with whom she had joked with a while ago killed her husbands. She wouldn't be bothered by her death. None of them would. Sometimes she doubted that Draco would be affected by her death if she died. He wasn't raised to be, after all. She wasn't sure if she would be much affected if Narcissa or Lucius were killed. Did that make her soulless? Was she the monster that the Emperor wished for all of them to be? She had just one friend. Just Draco. The others…how could she call people she saw just some times in a year for a few hours her friends? Draco didn't call them friends, they were his allies, and he saw them every day.

Was that all there was? Nothing more to see, to feel. A world that asked so much but gave nothing in return.

Her feet stopped when she noticed her steps weren't the only thing that echoed in the dark. She turned to see to who those elegant but slightly heavy steps belonged to. Obviously, they were a man's steps. But she wasn't being followed by Draco, Lucius, Damon, Reynold, Arty, Blaise, Theo, Gregory, Vincent, Ivan, Stan, Barty or Severus; she could easily recognize their foot rhythms. She wouldn't bet in Rabastan and Rodolphus's cousin, Marquis Ronald Jugson-Lestrange, too. Actually, she couldn't think of anyone that she knew that could have those steps. Well, there was one – a monk that Lucius's had brought once to the manor to give her a lesson on mind-projection; he used the same chimaera leather boots that her mystery person was using. She would never be able to thank the thief who had taught her to recognize steps of everyone, and the shoes that produced each sound. It was one of her best abilities – if not a bit useless. The thief was killed the same day he had declared he had taught her everything he could.

But no kind of training – with monks, thieves, duelists or generals – would have prepared her to the sight that waited her. One could even blame her for jumping in fright when the dark cloaked figure appeared to her, the furs of his robes on the ground, his jaw-length hair melting with the pelts of an animal she was almost sure to be a sphinx.

Lord Voldemort, Emperor of Magical Great Britain


	5. Hope is lost to lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on 12/04/2015: Hey there, here is Ríona. I've finished reviewing my already written chapters and I must be updating this story as soon as my beta is finished Reading the next chapter. So, as you know, Harry Potter isn't mine, and my beta is the wonderful Saharuriot18.

 

The man who had destroyed Britain – just to rebuild it to his own tastes. The man whose wraith all witches and wizards in the world feared. The most powerful wizard in the world. The monster that had killed more lives than anyone out there. The demon that had condemned all his enemies to misery, that had destroyed millions of lives, the one who thousands had sworn to obtain vengeance from, just to have their heads impaled on the walls of the citadel. The Devil that had traced her disgraceful future. The one who had made her forever inferior to all those around her just because she was an orphan with filthy blood.

 _Get a grip, girl! Your occlumency walls aren't strong enough to hold against him if he decides to attack. Besides, you are gaping. And shivering. Are you a bloody Chihuahua?_ she chastised herself, trying to break from her frozen panic.

"Hope Black. I've heard so much about you these years. Promising, Lucius called you years ago. I must say he might have been right." His drawling silky voice was similar to the sound of a violin. It was dangerous enough to her heart skip a beat in panic.

 _Tsk, tsk. Such a wuss. Wake up, girl! React!_ The short word made her shake of her stance, blinking once before settling her mind onto a rational trail of thoughts again. She had the Emperor of Great Britain in front of her; there was just one reaction to it.

Hope started a bow, just to be stopped by his hand in her chin, pushing her up again. "No need to bow, Dame Black. There's nobody near here and I'm sure that you don't respect me as much as you say you do."

Hope didn't answer, aware that the emperor would notice if she lied to his face. Yes, she wasn't as loyal as she was supposed to be…but neither were most of the Death Eaters. They were simply clever, and had huge survival instincts. There was nothing wrong with that – and she knew that Voldemort knew of the true faces of his followers. Nobody became the ruler of the whole Britain without knowing a bit about human nature.

"No, surely you don't. But nobody can expect more considering that you just saw me once. We'll need to resolve that, you see. Would you like visit the palace more often?"

Hope hesitated, not sure how to respond to that. She supposed that she should agree with an invitation from the Emperor of Britain. She wasn't against it necessarily, while the palace didn't have the most pleasant atmosphere, the idea of visiting the Serpentine Tower or the Royal Library was tempting.

Voldemort didn't seem that the disturbed with the lack of reaction from his talking partner; probably used to speechless followers. Yep, he should have been reading her body language as he nodded in satisfaction when she reached the tempting part of her thoughts.

"Narcissa informed me once about your parselmouth ability. Maybe we should make a visit to the Serpentine Tower; it's not that far from here." The precision of trailing her thoughts surprised Hope, was he reading her mind? No, it wasn't possible, he wouldn't react like that to her thoughts; if he were reading her thoughts, she could only feel relief to his calm reaction.

He guided her through the passageways in a quiet pace, stalking in the darkness that wrapped its shadows around them. The only sound that Hope could hear was her own battered breath and their steps, and the only sight she had seen had been of gargoyles looming in the dark. Hope was proud of her sense of direction but no matter how much she tried, she couldn't figure in what side of the palace they were in anymore. She couldn't even work out if they had turned to left or right near the statue of Herpo, the Foul.

The thought of following this deranged man through the walls of his deadly citadel was disturbing. The fact that after they entered in another corridor she started to hear painful moans and distant screams seemed to agree with her impressions of the place.

The palace didn't have many windows, but every once in a while they would pass by narrow double windows and she could see the weather outside. It was a freezing winter day, and snowflakes spiraled in the air outside the castle walls. The ground was painted in white with the snow, not that much could really be seen at that time of night. When they neared the tower that Hope grasped the view through the windows.

The Serpentine Tower looked like a needle. It had the highest pinnacle she had ever seen but it was too narrow to someone enter in it. Well, at least it looked narrow. She knew it was the Serpentine Tower; the stone vipers carved around its whole length made it an obvious guess. They slithered up and downwards, in a frozen hypnotic dance.

They were inside the cliff that separated the castle from the rest of the citadel. If she looked up she could see the bridges above them. It was weird, she didn't remember moving downward.

Voldemort stopped in front of large doors - simple but with the imperial mark carved upon them. Hissing to the doors in parseltongue, they swung open revealing a large circular chamber with a domed ceiling. There weren't any windows, but Hope could still feel the cold wind when she entered. Drafts, meaning that some sort of extra entrance existed too.

She felt something in her feet, and noticing the hissing sound, she betted it was a snake. Probably poisonous. She kneeled down and reached to the small snake, observing the thousand others in the floor. They covered the whole floor, and many were curled in niches found along the walls. The whole tower was much wider than it had looked from the outside.

She recognized the small snake from a book about snakes that she had read at thirteen, a western taipan, the snake with the deadliest venom in the world. She arched her eyebrows to the emperor.

/ Hello, little one, / she hissed, caressing its scales. The snake wrapped itself around Hope's waist.

/ Cosy, warm speaker, / it hissed in contentment in a childish voice. Hope chuckled at the hatchling's behavior and watched as Voldemort approached the fireplace in the middle of the chamber. Oh, there could be only one reason to the existence of a fireplace there. Ashwinders. The famous short-lived snakes that were born in the fire and just lived enough time to laid their eggs, before returning to dust – one hour of life, just a small hour. It was sad in a way.

/ Did master find another speaker? / another western taipan asked, this one was surely an adult, judging by its six foot length. / Quiet! Can't you see it's a mating ritual? / a black mamba chastised. Hope couldn't help her snicker at the thought – she doubted that someone would ever think of her encounter with the Dark Lord as romantic, with the exception of snakes.

/ I doubt your master would like you to think this is a "mating ritual", beautiful one, / she told them, grinning as the taipan beamed at her and the mamba huffed arrogantly after hearing the compliment

Merlin knew she loved snakes. Most snakes didn't have names, but magical species would name themselves. There were just four species of magical snakes – ashwinders, runespoors, basilisks and hydras. Hope had never seen any one of those species in person. Ashwinders were rare to see wandering around, as they could only survive near the fire; runespoors were only native to Africa; basilisks were just too rare to someone heard of them – scholars said that there shouldn't be more than four in the whole world; and the same was true with hydras – whose world population shouldn't be bigger than twenty-two.

Even if it meant approaching Voldemort, she had to see those ashwinders, and so she walked to him, carefully avoiding several cobras, serpents, and pythons. On the emperor's shoulders rested a giant Burmese python, as thick as a thigh. While most of those weren't venomous, Hope could tell that this one was more deadly than the king cobra currently curling itself around his feet. There was an amount of dark magic around her – because it was obviously a female – that could kill as fast as a wink. Hope tried to not pay attention to their conversation as the emperor and his snake talked, but she could tell that her name was Nagini.

/ Master told me that you are a guest tonight. / The snake approached her, lurking into her gown and travelling through her skirts. Hope wasn't scared of the creature. The snake was beautiful, and while rather deadly, she wouldn't attack. No, if Voldemort wanted her dead, Hope would have been buried six feet under the ground quite a while. Nagini's cold body travelled up her legs, just to wrap itself around her left leg, the snake's head settled on her thigh. / I like her, she is quite soft, / the snake informed her master.

Voldemort chuckled and that scared the shit out of Hope – not that she showed it. His laugh was quite pleasurable, that wasn't the problem – it was just the fact that the Dark Lord could actually chuckle. / You are the first the person that seems to be quite used to have a snake under their gown. /

Hope had no idea how she should answer that, if she were with Draco, she would surely had grinned cheekily or maybe punched his shoulder – he could always be counted on to give her a suggestive leer. But she was with Voldemort right now, not Draco. No, being cheeky wasn't an option, much less punches.

She turned to see the ashwinders. It was a strange ritual, the mother giving her life to her children that would mature in their first forty minutes just to reproduce in other fifteen or so. The incubation period required for the eggs was a mere five minutes and then it all with the snakes becoming dust before even witnessing the hatching of their own children. One hour. A whole cycle of life in one hour.

She observed as that cycle happened in the fireplace. There were around twenty of those creatures surrounding the flames, one of them looked up to her. / You are the guest? What does guest mean? / She smiled to the pale grey and red creature, watching as she laid her eggs in the embers of the fire.

/ Someone welcomed somewhere, somewhat like a visitor, / Hope tried to explain. / Do you have a name? /

/ It is Makenna. I didn't know what visitor meant, you taught me two words! / The small snake on Hope's waist echoed the words before Hope heard Nagini hissing something about "stupid hatchlings" under her skirt. The witch snorted in amusement with the serpentines bickering.

Just after Nagini finished ranting about the weak animals she was forced to live with, Makenna's scales dropped into the fire, showing a grey flesh that rose in the air in small pieces of ashes – leaving behind five eggs.

/ They will hatch in an hour, / Voldemort informed her, as she stepped backwards, avoiding tripping on a runespoor. / Hey, lady, watch where are you going! / its left head shouted, guiding the body to the crowd of snakes.

/ Honestly, when did guests become blind morons? Fucktards! / The right head rambled on, ignoring the mumblings of "fated to greatness" from the middle head. Hope shook her head, slightly exasperated with their attitude.

"You will have to excuse the right head for its crude language…it is the critic head, and it isn't famous for its politeness." Voldemort's voice woke her from her shock over Makenna's sudden death. "Runespoors are quite entertaining if not a bit annoying."

"I know of a runespoor's complex temper, Your Imperial Highness. I was just surprised with the ashwinder's fast end."

"Yes, they are fascinating, aren't them? When enlarged they raise a respectable hell," he commented as Hope hummed in agreement. "I remember one time in Hogwarts when they enlarged one in a pantomime." Hope arched her eyebrows at that. It was unheard of the emperor making comments about his boyhood.

It was bloody creepy, actually, the thought of the emperor walking around in the same robes that Draco used. And nobody knew that he had studied in Hogwarts – well, some people were bound to know but that wasn't a subject spoken about, this was the first time that Hope heard of the Dark Lord's education, or even about his past. Did he have a family? It was just too surreal to think about it.

She studied his face in the opposite side of the flames, now that she looked closely she could notice the tiny details of it. His hair had soft curls on the end, and his red eyes had dark mahogany borders with a blood red center He was staring at her and Hope felt chills running down her spine as his eyes bore into hers, but she couldn't look away. She couldn't move a limb, or even her eyelid.

Hope stood frozen as those eyes seemed to walk through every corner of her being without having to use a bit of legimency. He was scary, but also another thing that she didn't allow herself to think of.

She felt Nagini moving under her skirt, her heavy body moving up to her hips, her forked tongue flicking, a way of tasting the ground – in this case, the skin. Her body was cold, and her head stroked Hope's lower belly in a strange yet addicting sensation. Her scales caressed her skin, scratching a trail on her body.

Hope's eyes were still glued to the emperor's. He stared at her with a cold mask, just leaving enough expression to show her who was responsible for the movements. He gave her a smirk, and she felt his snake trailing down her bum, fondling her flesh.

She shivered, all thoughts had left her mind and she couldn't think about anything. The python had stolen all the thoughts from her mind, leaving her to focus purely on the snake moving under her gown. She felt the heat reach her cheeks, a warm feeling as she gasped while trying to pronounce words.

The Dark Lord approached her form, holding her chin up and keeping her gaze on him. His glassy eyes mirrored her expression, from her dilated pupils to her slightly open lips. She breathed loudly as he ran a thumb on her left cheek.

The snake's tail played with her stockings, before teasing her knickers and pushing her head into them. Hope felt the tail exploring her inner thighs and groaned. Voldemort raised an eyebrow to her. She suddenly noticed the sticky feeling of wetness down her womanhood and blushed as the creature stuck her tongue into it, eliciting a long moan of Hope and finally making the witch snap out of her trance.

By the time she regained her full lucidness, Hope realized that both the Dark Lord and his snake had moved away, watching her panting on the ground from distance. She blushed when she looked up, expecting to see his disapproving expression. But his expression was blank and if she couldn't have felt her panties clinging to her womanhood, Hope would have betted that nothing had happened.

She shivered, this time in fear, when she fully understood what had happened. She hadn't done much, really, but if the emperor asked, she would have willingly betrayed Draco without even thinking about it. If Voldemort asked now, she would still have to betray Draco, though not as willingly. But the fact she had been moaning in front of the Dark Lord just prompted another question…why did he do it?

Suddenly feeling rather harassed and much discomforted, Hope took a step backwards. How could she have lost herself and allowed such subjugation? She was a survivor…but she could only feel humiliated. Lord Voldemort didn't seem to acknowledge what had happened, and she decided that if one of them was going to ignore it, the other could too. She refused to give him the satisfaction of having the upper hand, not even over this incident.

"Your Imperial Highness, I fear I have to return to the ballroom. My family must be quite worried about my disappearance," she said, forcing her voice into the coldest tone she could produce at the moment, ignoring her heart thumping madly in her chest.

"Yes, yes. You are dismissed, Dame Black. You ought to return to the ballroom immediately, we don't want a little lady lost in such huge palace, do we?"

Completely aware that it was a rhetorical question, Hope didn't answer it. Instead, she chose to leave the second he voiced his dismissal. And so she did, her steps echoing faster and louder than they had done before through the walls.

 _Oh Merlin's saggy left ball, is Dark Lord was really interested in it? What the hell? Fuck, happened there? I'm not the squealing and giggling girl who gets frozen in high tension situations and I'm not Dray, I don't stutter like an idiot when people tease me!_ She felt like banging her head on the stones until she was unconscious and preferably, she would wake up and be unable to remember the whole event. 'Was he teasing me? He couldn't be serious, could he?' She trembled in fear that the Dark Lord was actually sexually attracted by her.

 _Oh Morgana's bloodied knickers, get a grip! Are you some sort of scared, wimpy, weak loser that gets intimidated by some fucking teasing? You are not a weak, innocent and girlish kitten, girl!_ That thought made her remember of darker times, when surviving was a synonym to the kisses and touches to a young and innocent orphan. She was no longer that poor orphan. She was a prideful noble and she refused to be humiliated by such acts.

She looked at her reflection in a mirror and cringed. Her hair was entirely messed up and her gown skirt was crumpled – the very classic dress that made her look extremely innocent. She growled in angry before lifting her skirt and picking her wand from her right tight. Circe had blessed humankind when she gave them magic; she had to agree with that. A few spells later no one was be able to tell why she had been out for so long and she beamed at her image in satisfaction.

As soon as she entered into the ballroom, she found Draco's face staring at hers with an exasperated look. "Where were you? I've been searching for you for more than an hour!"

"Seriously? Why didn't you give up after half an hour? I would, Morgana knows that you are bound to get lost while walking to the toilet."

Draco rolled his eyes at her. "Obviously, you are much more knowledgeable than me so that isn't the case here, start speaking." She grinned at him before throwing her arms on his shoulders. "I went for a walk; maybe later I'll feel like telling you about it." She knew she wouldn't, but saying that would end Draco's interrogation. "But sarcasm aside, more than an hour means many business conversation opportunities wasted. I'm sure my disappearance wasn't worth of it."

"Indeed, if we go bankrupt in the next five years the blame is all yours." He laughed as she hit her fist on his shoulder. "You are my girlfriend, my iris, I can't leave you alone." She snorted before smashing his lips with hers, in a casual kiss that was just a bit more heated than the allowed for such occasions – the fact they were in a ballroom full of pureblood ending the possibility of what could have been a very pleasant snogging session.

"Do you wanna dance? I mean, after I order everybody to stop searching for you."

"You did what?"

"I may have put Blaise, Theo, Daphne, Arty, Isadore, Ivan, Millie, Vincent and Gregory in a quest for finding you. I believe they informed the others." Hope couldn't stop her laughter when he gave her a sheepishly smile.

Yep, count on Draco Malfoy to improve her mood.

OoO

Morning found Hope Black curled on a loveseat, her head on Draco Malfoy's bare chest. They were at the west parlor, obviously. The room was cold; they had forgotten to charm the fireplace so the flames had been died out long ago. She felt Draco's chest raising up and down, his sleepy breath was soft and long. He looked like an angel like that. His heart-shaped face had lost all baby fat it had had when they first met; his Grecian nose lightly crooked and slightly high cheekbones that made his cheeks look a bit sunken, his lips were full, his upper lip very well designed. His straight ear-length hair was completely disheveled, the silver blonde color faded against his pale skin – which had been tanned when he had left during the summer – again. His hooded eyes had long blonde lashes and though she couldn't see his silver eyes she knew how beautiful they were.

His lean body was well-toned because of quidditch training at school as well as the training with Hope at home, nothing overdone but fit. She traced her fingers down his chest, smirking as he moved in his sleep. After the ball they had bid farewell to Narcissa and Lucius before running to their room. They hadn't done it, but nobody could call their snogging session short or superficial. They had almost had sex, but after the incident with Voldemort, Hope was a little hesitant to do it that night. Draco had seen her look of hesitation and stopped. She had hated herself for it, at least until Dray put her in haze state that made her forget about it. He had refused to go all away, though.

Oh Merlin, maybe she should hesitate more times if she would be rewarded with those kisses. She wondered what would happen if Narcissa opened the door at the moment. She was almost sure that the Malfoy duchess wouldn't be too pleased seeing her protégée wearing just a balcony bra, panties and stockings sitting on her son who was only wearing boxers. Yep, definitely not.

She trailed kiss on his chest, grinning when his eyes stirred open. "Best wakeup call of my life," he mumbled, pulling her to him and pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. "Morning, Dray," she said, eliminating their bad breath with a wave of wand – the classic signal to him kiss her freely. And so he did, pushing his tongue in her mouth and grabbing her arse as she caressed his hair. They sat up, never leaving each other mouth and breathing through their noses as long as they could.

He left her mouth, kissing down her neck and then shoulders, biting hard and softly, gently and harshly. Hope moaned and dug her nails in his back as he licked her nipple. She kissed every inch of skin of his that she could see before bringing his lips back to hers and sticking her tongue into his mouth. He groaned when she started to suck his neck, leaving a mark on it. Oh, how she loved when he moaned.

A clock rang twelve times near there and they stopped abruptly, just to hear their stomachs growling in hunger. They snickered together. "Lunch. Oh Morgana, your father is going to be mad with us for not appearing to breakfast."

"He will get over it," he said, kissing her once more. She responded eagerly before pushing him aside. "Common I'm hungry and we have to get dressed. Hell, I bath would be good. Where is my cloak?"

"At the piano," he answered, searching for his pants. "Did you see my pants?"

"Here in the piano," she told him, throwing his clothes to him. "We could use magic, you know."

"Yep, but I like to remember what we did yesterday and when."

"Arsehole."

"My lovely bitchy iris."

As expected, neither Duke Malfoy nor Duchess Malfoy were too pleased with their absence from breakfast, much less with their delayed arrival to lunch. Hope had only explained to them that they had stayed up until the dawn at the western parlor. And she wasn't even lying. Lucius and Narcissa had long ago got over the fact that their son was bound to live in the room with Hope. They pretty much trusted in Hope to safe Draco if he got injured or anything. She felt like she was betraying their trust trashing around with Draco, but in the heat of the moment she could never stop.

That afternoon Draco would go with Lucius to deal with the dukedom affairs and Hope was supposed to help Narcissa with the Charity Ball of Rowan. Helping with the charity ball usually meant that they would be drinking tea at one of the greenhouses or tea salons of the manor while several designers surrounded them. Actually, Hope was wishing that they would be choosing the menu for the ball – or at least, the desserts. With her luck in "helping" she would be most likely stuck with weavers showing off the finest silks or something like that. Narcissa hadn't said anything.

She watched as the boys left, Draco looking at her once more and chuckling at her grimace. "Don't leave me to see curtains, you bloody asshole!" she shouted, to all Malfoys amusement. Narcissa shook her head in resignation with their childish behavior. "Don't let anyone hear you talking like this," she advised, watching as her son waved goodbye after dodging a tripping jinx. "Good reflexes, earl Malfoy!" Hope shouted as the two wizards disappeared. "Don't worry, you know I won't, Cissy."

"Yes, yes. Sometimes I wonder if it was the right decision to entrust Draco's safety to you, when you are the cause of most of his injuries."

"I call it building character. When I'm done with him, he will be a fine man and great duelist." Narcissa snorted at that. "You mean, if he don't become a corpse in the process. I like my son alive, Hope. But it's always great to count on a fine young woman to turn a prat into a man."

"Yep, that's the idea."

"Very well, miss teacher. I told Errin to find a dress to you; maybe Alicia can help you with the rest," Narcissa informed her, but Hope shook her head. "Owen it's the best hairdresser one can find, would a braided bun be proper?" When the older witch nodded, Hope quickly walked up to her rooms.

Her bedroom hadn't changed since she had last arrived. Hope was always careful to leave it untidy, as it was the first room that was hers; and even if she did leave it like that, the servants and house elves would clean the mess if it got too out of hand. The only thing different was that in the entrance hall of her suite there was a large mute portrait of her, painted at the beginning of the year. She wore a black velvet gown with pearls lying across her neck. Entering on her closet, she found what she was looking for on the cushioned bench near her cloaks wardrobe. A baby blue strapless gown, with an ankle-length circle skirt and a dark blue velvet cloak with a wide fan-collar. She smiled to Owen, who was sitting in front of her dressing table.

It was almost three o'clock p.m. when Hope met Narcissa again, wearing sapphire earrings that Arty had given to her for her fourteenth birthday and high heel ivory slippers. The Malfoy Lady wore a dark green off-shoulder gown of a similar length to Hope's dress with an a-line skirt and a heavy embroidered dark cloak. At the age of forty-one, Narcissa didn't look one day older than the first time they had met –barely looking thirty.

"So, Your Grace, do I get to know what will we be doing? And to where I should go?"

"We are going to Clíodhna House," she said, fastening her cloak around her chest. Clíodhna, the Irish goddess of love and beauty. She had already heard that name, she had already heard of that place – something about hypocrisy; about associating a noble, sacred deity with a…oh shit, a brothel.

"What?!" Hope gasped in disbelief. Why would Narcissa Malfoy bring her to Clíodhna House? The most high class pleasure house in the whole Britain and maybe Europe? Well, actually the fact that a Malfoy was going to a high class place was expected of them, but the fact that the woman she considered an aunt was taking her to a brothel…it was disturbing.

"But I thought we were going to plan the charity ball!" Hope almost shouted in indignation. Narcissa smiled, fastening Hope's cloak around her and casting a warming charm on both of them. "We are. It's a charity, we are going to auction the time of prostitutes with the most renowned courtesans of the empire, and all money is going to orphanages and things like that. Today, we are going to see the courtesans that are to be employed by us for the event."

Hope gave her an unamused snicker. Hundreds of aristocrats finding an excuse to waste their money buying sex slaves and toys and amusing themselves saying that said money was to give children – who were the slaves of the future. Hundreds of murderers in flashy clothes talking about nothing. Hundreds of wealthy wizards and witches eating and drinking enough to need at least five hangover medications and other five digestion potions while orphans, light wizards, beggars and muggles starved at the corner. And they called it beneficent.

Yep, because it's too much trouble to just donate money for those that nobody cares about.

The worst of it though, was that she was a part of it. And she was happy to be lucky, happily living her own wretched life and ignoring the truth she had experienced in her own flesh. Because it was just bloody complicated to do the contrary.

"I know what are you thinking, Hope. Forget it; there is nothing to be done," the blonde woman scolded, and Hope only nodded shakily – not really willing to talk, and not trusting herself to do so. In a blink of eyes, Hope was staring Cissy's eyes, her face trapped between the witch's hands. Dray had his mother's eyes, she noticed, but his mother face was diamond-shaped. "You are a survivor, Hope. Don't pick fights you cannot win if you want to survive."

Hope allowed the point be made and then grinned at the duchess. "We should get going, don't you think, Cissy?" Narcissa snapped out of her counselor mood and flicked her tongue. "Idiot child, someday you will get all of us killed," she joked, picking her wand for the wand holster on her leg as Hope did the same.

"You sealed your destiny when you decided to adopt me," Hope told her cheekily before apparating.

Clíodhna House didn't fit the image of a brothel that most had. It wasn't a filthy, lecherous place where naked men and women performed libertine activities and performed orgies. At least, it didn't look like it – but that was expected from high-class pleasure houses, where most courtesans were expected to be clever, charming and captivating, able to entertain their guests with more than just cheap sex. There was a large room to drink tea or appreciate wine, or any other drink. As mostly nobles frequented those places, it wasn't wrong to go there and the room was actually meant for socializing. When things got more intimate, the guest and the courtesan (or the courtesans) would retire to one of the adjacent rooms. Hope had never been in a brothel, but that didn't mean she wasn't aware of how things worked.

The communal hall, as the large room was called, was a circular room of light polished stone with a glass dome that lit up the whole place. In the mezzanine, small pink and purple flowers grew in window boxes. On the first floor, the same flowers grew in flower beds, along with palm trees; and small, round glass tables surrounded a reflecting pool.

The room was empty, except for a gorgeous woman with a strawberry-blonde hair that reached her hips and a tanned skin. She wore a light silk strapless gown and gave them a welcoming smile. "Good afternoon, your grace, Dame Black. I'm Madam Althea Cypris. It's an honor to receive you today." Hope recognized the name. Althea Cypris had been one of the most highly sought prostitutes in the empire for seven years ago, and the one of three that managed to stay alive until now. She had retired last year, a privilege reserved to wealthy escorts when they reached their thirties. Some, like Madam Cypris, became mistresses of wealthy men and women if they had enough money to buy them. Althea was the rumored lover the emperor himself.

Hope barely contained a shudder at the thought, remembering how welcoming the Dark Lord had been the night before. "It's a pleasure to be here," Narcissa answered and all of them shared a smirk. Yes, pleasure, indeed.

Althea guided them to one of the tables, sitting them down on two cushioned chairs. The table was arranged with a beautiful gold and ivory tea set and cloth napkins – everything was too expensive. The retired courtesan gave them an introduction about their employees' talents and they traded polite jokes and compliments. Everything petty that you could expect from nobles and riches. Hope knew how to navigate that ground rather well.

In one point of the conversation, nine girls walked into the hall with soft, graceful steps accompanied by five boys. The women wore long, flowing red dresses, and silk shawls hung loosely from their arms. The men wore fitting dark robes, their hair gelled backwards. They all looked between fifteen and twenty-five. Young, beautiful, enslaved. As their bodies moved in an alluring dance, Hope noticed that they all had frozen and seductive expressions on their faces.

One by one, they left their circle and greeted them, Althea introducing the two witches to the courtesans with small, but informative, feedback. Natalie Allen was a tall athletic woman with dark skin and ebony long hair, twenty-one years old; she excelled in playing the violin and the harp. She had left her parents at the age of seven, at the beginning of the empire.

Olive Barber was taken from her home when she was three, and brought up believing in the supremacy of the empire. She was a pale girl of fifteen years, with a bleach blonde hair that reminded Hope of Draco, just slightly longer than his. Olive was great at flower arranging and at reciting poetry. Madam Cypris had been very proud to announce that the girl was still a virgin, though she was thoroughly trained in the art of seduction.

"And here is our best painter, I must say. She is twenty-five; most of our clients find her exquisite, refined and polite. Naomi was the best of her class in politics and pleasing." Naomi Bower had an Asian appearance that made Hope think that maybe one of her parents came from China or Japan. She had the light skin of most Asians and a brunette hair with light waves.

"I see. And her parents?" Narcissa asked. It was a question necessary for all of them – it would be nonsensical put someone that held a grudge against the State in a ball full of royals. In brothel designed especially for nobility, there shouldn't be any, but better safe than sorry.

"She was orphan even before the empire. Apparently, someone left her in a muggle orphanage when she was barely a month old." Hope looked at the girl that was bowing to them. They shared the same story. Found by a muggle orphanage, then taken in by a magical orphanage. But the girl was courtesan, and Hope was a dame.

"This is Ruby Butler." Althea introduced them to a woman with auburn short hair, hazel eyes and tanned skin, of average height. "She is nineteen, her parents died when she was seven, a blood-traitor and a mudblood. Nothing worrisome, though. Ruby is quite fierce but rather intelligent. She is our greatest dancer and singer. Best of her year at seduction and entertaining."

Both of them nodded and Hope observed as Ruby winked to her. Hope couldn't help the small smirk that appeared on her face as she took a sip of her tea – rooibos tea with honey and a bit of lemon.

"And here is the first of our boys: Logan Casey." A tall and strong-looking man with light brunette hair and big blue eyes stared them, he had a strong jaw and a beard – something a bit unusual to courtesans, but that ladies should love. "He is a proficient chess player and rider. Logan is usually praised by his abilities in playing the violin and cello."

"His age and family?" Hope asked in the place of Narcissa, who was busy studying the man's body. He was handsome, Hope had to say, but she was suddenly reminded of Draco. She was already betraying his parents' trust on engaging a romantic relationship with him; Hope refused to betray his too.

"Logan is twenty-two; his mother was a mudblood, but his father a filthy muggle. His mother died giving birth to him and Logan suffered for years under his father's care before being taken away by the empire when he was eleven." Yep, he definitely was in; suffering because of an abusive muggle was enough assurance, and Narcissa seemed to appreciate him.

Hope knew that Narcissa and Lucius had a great, loving relationship, but they also had an open marriage, as did most of the purebloods unless one of the partners was particularly possessive of the other. They were free to have lovers and sometimes, they even shared their partners. It was a bit weird in comparison of what Hope had heard about the muddy world. There, a marriage usually meant monogamy – at least, in the West – and homosexuality was still something frowned upon with those who accepted labeled liberals. But their society as a whole was much freer than its magical counterpart.

Ethan Forster was the next courtesan, a seventeen years old boy with feminine features and honey blonde hair that reached his shoulders; definitely was beautiful, if not handsome. His amber eyes were hypnotizing. According to Althea, he was taken from his home at the age of two – at the beginning of the empire, when thousands of children had been taken from their parents – and had been introduced to the courtesan route earlier than most: at the age of ten, when Lord Rookwood had noticed his full potential. A potential very different from the one the Malfoys had seen in her. At that point he had been around the magical world enough to know better than go against it. Skillful at snooker and card games, he was also an accomplished sculptor and painter.

A girl with a long mane of brown hair approached them, her smooth creamy skin shinning against the scarlet of the gown. She was pretty, with a delicate, classic type of beauty and was probably around Hope's own age. "And here we have the best of her year in all classes, our lover of books – Hermione Granger."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling quite devilsh while writing this chapter ;D I updated quite fast, I wrote everything today. Save the saturdays because they are blessed. Any questions, corrections, compliments or critize just leave a comment. I'm very talkative about things that I like (aka books, drawning, chocolate, mangás).  
> The cliffhanger is a gift! I still want those beautiful things called kudos, comments and bookmarks!


	6. Hope is racking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, I finnally updated. Enjoy the chapter, just beta-read by the goddessskym, thanks for your work!

**SO, I finnally updated. Enjoy the chapter, just beta-read by the goddessskym, thanks for your work!**

* * *

Hope watched as the feminine and masculine bodies moved around the room. They were still dancing, but now she couldn't avoid looking at their forms. She couldn't stop her glance towards Natalie Allen's firm thighs, or Logan Casey's broad shoulders. Scarlett Hartley was a vivacious ginger of eighteen that seemed proficient on taking her attention with her confident moves, and Joshua Randall had the most pleasant voice she had ever heard, husky and sensual.

Her main object of attention was, though, Hermione Granger. Oh, Hope wasn't really attracted to her, the girl was too pretty, too cute, too natural, for her taste. But there was something about her – something mysterious. There was more in that girl that just a courtesan – there was something behind her eyes.

The same could be said of Alexis Wright, though. The light-skinned-and-haired girl seemed almost like a snowflake – like the ground of the street outside – but there was a bit of madness in her eyes. Althea had assured them that the girl was trustworthy, and with the light legilimency that Hope had used on all of them, she couldn't feel any ill intentions from any of them. That didn't mean they didn't hate one or two members of the society but at least, they didn't feel any ill intentions towards Narcissa, Althea or Hope – a duchess, a rumoured lover of the emperor, and a dame. If they loathed the empire as a whole, Hope would have known.

She nodded to Narcissa, signalling that their minds were clean. Narcissa smiled in satisfaction. "Thank you for your attention, Althea. It won't be required anymore." After hearing the obvious dismissal, Althea got up and with a low bow and with mutters of "Your Grace, Dame Black" she went away.

Hope also stood up, knowing that Narcissa wished to test their eloquence and charisma. It was Hope's job to send the courtesans to the older woman. She quickly motioned to Hollie Powell to go to their table, knowing that she was the one who had disinterested Narcissa more. The black haired girl with violet eyes whose speciality was playing the flute and ceremonial tea walked on her tip toes to the table, reminding Hope of a graceful bird.

The dame couldn't keep her eyes from the beautiful olive-skin of Zara Watts, but commanded herself to keep her eyes on Hermione Granger and Alexis Wright. The blonde girl was shivering and Hope remembered her story – absolutely common, she was the daughter of a squib that had been taken away from home at her fifth birthday. She was twenty years-old and she had a healthy mind. It wasn't cold inside the house. Why would the girl be shivering?

Hermione Granger, otherwise, seemed quite at ease in her place. But there was something about her, Hope had been tutored for years to don't trust her intuition. Well, she thought as she indicated to Tristan Law to approach the Duchess Malfoy, I'll have to keep an eye on them, I guess.

OoO

It was a few days later that Hope received the news that would shake her life – probably forever. A blizzard had reached Wiltshire as it never had happened in history that reminded Hope of the time she had visited the Blacks in Cumbria – she wore her cloak of white furs around the castle, as neither the heating charms seemed to be effective enough. The afternoon had just begun and Lucius had asked her to meet him in his office during lunch.

When she arrived at the large room – with ebony panels covering its walls, and on these, the portraits of hundreds Malfoy ancestors – she found Lucius with his back to her, leaning on the balcony with a glass of single malt whisky.

"Are you stealing the drink of Llamerei or Enbarr?" She asked as she approached him. Lucius snickered at her, slowly turning around to face her and cancelling the charm he was using to keep the snow away from him. "None of them, a Malfoy doesn't drink the same as horses."

"You know that horses are mammals, and Malfoys are mammals, too. All mammals drink milk, if they aren't allergic to it. Besides, I would prefer to think that both human and horses without wings drink water."

"Funny, what do you want, miss better than thou?" He asked, analysing the bar table he had near the long-window. "Superior Red? Blishen's Firewhisky? Red currant rum? Dragon Barrel Brandy? Chocolate liqueur? "

"As much as I appreciate your wine, I'll stay with the brandy. It must be the first time you offered it to me.", was her response.

"You know that it is supposed to be an after-dinner drink, don't you?" She nodded, reaching the glass he offered to her and taking a sip. "I didn't know you liked it."

"It was mouldering, sorry, maturing in a barrel for 150 years; I am obliged to like. But I doubt you have called me here to discuss my alcoholic tastes, did you?"

Lucius shook his head, sitting behind his desk with a reluctant smirk on his face. "Indeed. It's my duty to inform you that you won't resume your tutoring sessions with your teachers this year." Hope had felt that there was something wrong in the situation, by the way that Lucius delayed the news; when they reached her, the witch gasped. Why? She was doing well on her classes! She was a great duellist that could keep her ground while fighting with Bellatrix Lestrange! She wasn't the best legilimens or occlumens but she was proud to say that she was knowledgeable at runes and had almost mastered transfiguration. Potions weren't her area, but she did rather well on charms. At least she was better than any Hogwarts graduate. She knew how to recognize poisons, lies, steps and fighting styles. She had always known how to fight with just her fists and a dagger. She trained every day. She researched everything she could. She had valued the tutors that the Malfoys had preferred to pay for her, and not their son.

She had never understood very well why they had done it, actually, but she wasn't that ungrateful. Draco didn't want it anyway, he always said that he wanted her to come with him, but never that he wanted to stay at home with her. The wizard had confided in her many times that he was glad she was the warrior, and that he could be the politician. Oh, he wasn't a bad fighter, or a coward, but it wasn't his thing. Her blond lover had told her once that he could hurt all of those that entered his path…but killing wasn't his thing.

Where was she? Oh yes: "Why?! What did I do wrong?"

"Oh, you aren't the problem, Hope. We aren't disappointed with the results you showed us. On the contrary, you won't be attending your classes here with your tutors but you'll still have them. In the Imperial Palace. You see, the dark lord offered himself to supervise your education."

Hope didn't ask for him to repeat his words. She had heard him, she had understood his words. She just refused to believe him. But Lucius wasn't lying; her own training in detecting lies assured her of it. She was going to have lessons under the emperor's command. They couldn't be that bad – oh no, they would be great. She would have the best teachers, she would reach her full potential.

The most disturbing thing was, though, his reasons. Why would the emperor of Britain volunteer to educate her? He certainly had more important thing to do than teach a filthy orphan and mudblood. There could be only one reason, and it wasn't pleasant. Hope trembled at the memory of a few nights ago. If he asked her to do it, she would be obliged to do so, he was the emperor. He knew her identity. He was more powerful. He had killed, enslaved, condemned thousands, millions. Raping her shouldn't be his first time doing that.

But what if she enjoyed it? What if she accepted it? Hope didn't know what was worse: to be raped by the dark lord, or to accept such a monster willingly.

Was she wrong? What if he was just teasing her that night and he didn't have those intentions. She wasn't Althea Cypris, or anything like that, and as far as she knew, that was his type of woman. She was a fighter, not a seductress; but at the end, what was the difference? Both of them were synonyms to survivor. And she was a survivor.

Well, she wouldn't be having classes with him, would she? The witch doubted it. Voldemort was still the emperor, and he still had to plan how he would conquest the rest of the world and purge the whole muggle race. He still had to rule an empire, and with subversive thoughts taking over the heads of light wizards and witches, it shouldn't be an easy task. He still had to find the remaining Traitors of Magic. The Emperor still had to deal with other nations now, as he hadn't subdued all of them.

She looked up to face Lucius, just to realize that she wasn't in his office anymore. Oh, that had been quite rude of her. Well, the Duke of the Malfoys would understand. She took a sip of her brandy, wondering what Lucius would be thinking of her. He was most likely calling her an alcoholic. But she knew the door she was facing very well, it was probably the door she knew the most in the whole manor.

Hope opened the door of the west parlour, her ears realizing that the room wasn't empty as the sound of the piano invaded her mind. She recognized the soft sound of the old ballad that all children of the empire knew how to sing. "Chunna mi'n t-seabhag's cut cùl rilàr" She sang, smiling to Draco as he raised his eyes to her.

"'S bidh Corraglain Bhain; 'S bidh Gormshuilna Maigh" He was playing half of the enchanted piano, that copied his fingers by itself, providing musical support. "A fagail am mairech siaban nan ton, 'S righ gur a tromair an ogshean e."

"Ari a, ari." Both of them repeated. The song was an old folkloric ballad that they would catch themselves singing once in a while that spoke of a falcon, a man called Jean, a young girl and the time that passed. That was just one of the magical songs that had become popular within the empire. There were also bands like the Weird Sisters and classical authors.

They grinned mischievously to each other before Draco started the sorrowful tune of Odo the Hero and Hope slipped to seat beside his, putting her fingers on keys of the piano. They continued like this, remembering the songs they had long forgotten.

"Sing a song, a song of life. Lived without regret. Tell the ones, the ones I love: I never will forget. Never will forget." They sang together, ending the mournful tune with small smiles. Draco joined his forehead to hers, kissing her chastely on the lips. "It must be great, don't you think?" She asked.

"What?" He said softly, kissing her on her neck. Hope moaned as he sucked her skin, leaving a red bruise on it.

"Living without regrets."

"Oh, but it's impossible. We humans are fated to be unhappy. Even if we try to live without regrets, we will always find a way to be unsatisfied with at least one of our choices." He gave her a reassuring peck on the lips as she looked up to him. "But there are some choices…there are a few choices that we don't find a way to point the fault on them. Those are the ones that provide moments of happiness, and that make us addicted to happiness. And because of it we live. To pursue those few, miserable moments of happiness."

The lovingly expression on his face made her want to throw everything away. She wanted to have sex with him. Oh Merlin, Morgana and Circe, she loved him. She loved the way his eyes sparkled when he was happy, the way his eyelid creased when he truly smiled. She loved the way they didn't need to speak to understand each other; she loved their intimacy. She loved their freedom. She loved the fact that she could make the most nonsensical commentary to him and he would still look at her like she was right. She loved the fact that she could complain about their bad breath without feeling ashamed. She loved to know that she knew him.

He was so right, why should it matter? A moment of happiness made a live of sadness and regret worth it. But a moment of happiness tainted by regrets… There were so many things happening around them. Narcissa and Lucius would never allow them to stay together, and she knew she was betraying their trust. Then there was Voldemort, Hope hadn't told Draco what had happened. And if she told him now…what would he say when he discovered about her lessons? She couldn't refuse to go. The only way of her not going to the Palace was if she died. And she didn't plan to die, or enter a coma.

As she kissed him fiercely, Hope could only think about the consequences of their actions. What if one of them died? She would forever regret not doing it. What if they did it and were discovered? Their relationship would be forever lost and severed by bitterness. What if they did it and nobody discovered them? Oh, but then one day Draco would have to marry someone, and she would marry Damon. What if she got pregnant? No, she couldn't afford to get pregnant. She would have to abort. An aborted baby would destroy them. What if they were discovered and Narcissa and Lucius accepted them? Bullshit. Only in fairy tales.

She had to stop. Pulling away from the kiss and smiling tenderly to him at the top of the piano. They were both lying side by side on the hard wooden surface, the glassy ceiling reflecting their forms. The grey cotton button up dress she was wearing under her cloak – which had been thrown to their side – was open until her flat belly and Draco wasn't better. But what called her attention was the huge file at the end of the piano, which she reached with a wave of her wand.

"What is this?" She questioned, leaning on her elbows to read it. Draco took a quick glance on what she was reading before responding: "It's a file father gave to me to analyse. There are several reports of missing deliveries, kidnappings, conflagration and murders."

Hope nodded, remembering what she had heard at the Yule Ball. "Traitors of Magic? The so-called rebels?"

"One would think. But that it's only a supposition. If there is a group, they had never made a declaration over their existence. They ask for ransoms through patroni that nobody can recognize; and they use incendio to create the fire. You know as well as I do that incendio is a charm, not something dark as fiendfyre. They kill people with reducto and wingardium leviosa."

"No dark magic. What leads you to believe that they are traitors of magic. But there has never been a proclaim of war." She resumed, trying to figure out the stage of the whole investigation thing.

"Nothing was ever said about it actually. The Emperor has already interrogated the few we captured, but you cannot discover the things your target doesn't know; and they never know. They didn't have any connections between them, too."

"So we have criminals wandering around the empire. You don't know if they are a group, who they are and what they want." Hope whistled. "That is pretty bad."

The images were unsettling, at least. Burnt, disfigured bodies of victims - innocent children, helpless women and men. There was a woman whose body was entirely pierced by shards of glass and a man whose skin had melted from his body - a side effect of exposing a vampire to the sun. But the man wasn't a vampire. How could that be light magic?

An old woman laid in a pool of a greyish substance - Hope recognized the effects of adding antifreezer to a magical brain, it slowly destroyed the magical core. "This doesn't look very light, although I know no dark spell was used here."

Draco nodded in understanding, a thoughtful expression on his face. "But why did Lucius give it to you?"

The wizard sighed, hugging her tightly. "Aldo Rookwood died in Surrey yesterday." Hope breathed hardly, Surrey was beside Wiltshire, and in the Malfoy dukedom. Near. Too near to be comfortable. She didn't know much about Aldo - he was the youngest cousin of Lord Rookwood, but he didn't frequent the social groups she did. The only things she knew about him were told to her by Barty, they were close friends. He was healer, she thought.

"Who is investigating?"

"Everyone. But Rookwood was killed with a stick. A real stick - not a wand. A fatal cut through his jugular. The assassin burned the stick with a muggle device. There is no magical signature, no witness, no strand of hair to put in a Polyjuice or body cell to do a Homuns Identifico Charm."

"The Chronos Curse? The Presentia Spell? A fucking time-turner?" She suggested, twirling a strand of Draco's blond hair around her fingers. "We couldn't gather the time of his death. The Corpus curse couldn't indicate the time of his death."

"This is impossible." The Corpus curse gave all the informations about a corpse it could gather…and the time of death was always one.

"Yet it happened."

Hope got up, rather unsettled by the topic of their conversation. A corpse that you couldn't obtain any information from. It shouldn't be possible.

"What do you think about it? Is it a group? Are they Traitors of Magic?"

"I think…that there is much more behind it than we think."

OoO

Hope was upset. It was her first day of lessons at the Palace; and Draco had left the day before. They hadn't much time to themselves after Rookwood's assassination, with Draco watching his father administer their lands and business and Hope busy helping Narcissa with the Charity Ball. And the remaining preparations didn't involve interesting people like courtesans - though she had enjoyed the art exposition. She had also enjoyed publishing an article about runes under the pen name of Eolwyn Maar.

As she apparated to the edge of the citadel, Hope had to recognized that while at night the castle seemed to house all the darkness of the world; during the day it was even creepier - the dark figure contrasted evilly with the cloudy sky, providing an abandoned atmosphere. She took the pendant that Eleonor had given her early that morning, as ordered by Lucius. It was a portkey, but one that worked just near the castle. All because she couldn't get past the anti-apparation wards, but carrying a portkey that could bring enemies inside the castle wherever they were was just insanity.

Activating the portkey, Hope felt her body hitting the hard floor as she landed in a room inside the palace. She didn't really recognize it but she was fairly sure she had already been there before. It was a large room with a chandelier made of shards of black glass. It was possible the most unfitting furniture in the whole castle. The white veins of the stone floor created a magical pattern of a rug - with the dark mark everywhere.

Suddenly, she felt something hard slamming her backwards and her head hit the same beautiful-yet-strange floor. She groaned in pain, and she clutched her forehead, getting up at the same instant to know her attacker.

There was no one there.

Well, at least that was her impression until she had to stop a spear of impaling her on the floor. Hope saw the dark blur lurking in the darkness this time.

She wasn't crazy then.

Sending a jet of water in the direction, Hope smirked as her opponent did nothing to prevent the water of washing the floor beneath his feet - and his body. After all, it was just water; the aguamenti spell she had used proved it.

But the small lightning she hit the liquid with made water much more lethal. She grinned as she heard someone scream - she just hopped it wasn't the emperor, an assassination attempt wouldn't do well with her status. Well, Voldemort wouldn't be that foolish.

She walked to the figure, cancelling her spell and expecting to see the defeated look in his eyes. She wasn't expecting a fist to punch her in her stomach, and surely, nobody could be strong enough after her attack to send her flying to the wall with just a punch. Yet, this person did.

She opened her eyes to stare at the muddy orbs of a very ginger man. He was tall and strong, his body covered with sun marks; but his skin was deathly pale. And he didn't smell that good - though his smell brought her good memories - sweat and salt. The scent of sailors. But he wasn't sweating. His steps were heavy, gangly and crawled. But he was strong and trained - those were the steps of a teenager during his worst period, skinny and unfit.

"Who are you?"

"The question is: what is him?" The man asked. Her eyebrows furrowed. His voice was husky, old and disused. A voice of a creature, actually. But the main question was: why was he referring to himself in third person?

Dead voice. Sweat and salt. Muddy eyes. No sweat. Pale body with tan marks. "You are dead." She stated. "But you don't look like a corpse."

"He was drowned. I had to look for a fitting man to kill for the whole empire. A man that had enough brain cells and muscular mass to be the best inferi one has already created."

That was surprising. An inferi that could speak and fight better than most humans. Hope had to give that to Voldemort, he was good. Not that she didn't know that already. "Well, you did a great work, your Imperial Highness." She complimented, finding it much easier to talk with the emperor through a corpse.

"Indeed, today we are going to test your abilities while fighting."

Hope let out a shaky breath of relief. She was safe then, safer than she would be in the dark lord's presence, at least. But then something sharp and painful penetrated her shoulder and the witch glared at the knife craved on her flesh. She sighed, letting a moan of pain out as she took the weapon from her wound.

It was going to be a long day.

OoO

Hope winced as she felt her left arm being twisted behind her back; her wand in her right hand that tried to free her helplessly.

"Do it." A voice whispered on her ear, sulky and merciless. "You can do it, dame Black, so do it. Just a word. You have the power…you have the intent." Words that didn't belong to the body behind her, but where said by it.

She twisted her other arm to reach the side of its head. The bruises of their fights during the week seemed to scream every time she moved; but her scars didn't open anymore; not after she had brewed the Moragia Potion.

/ _Do it!_ / The emperor's voice hissed and Hope turned to see the dark figure at the doorway. / _Do it!_ /

"Crucio." Inferi couldn't feel real pain - she had discovered it when she returned home the first day - but when she had questioned the dark Lord about it the other day, he had kindly informed her that a ritual had made the results of her attacks quite visible but in fact, painless.

So, during those seven nights she treated her injuries; the witch could only swear while she remembered she was the only one suffering.

Still, the sight of that dead man screaming on the ground in pain made her feel an ambiguity she had never felt in life. Rage and mercy. Fear and courage. Ruthless and scared. But it was liberating, it was relieving, it was addictive - much more than throwing plates at the walls. She had enough rage, enough power of will.

"Imperio. Burn yourself alive." She instructed, watching as the corpse did nothing except to stare at her...Oh, he was dead. No alive, then. "Imperio. Just burn yourself and don't kill me in the process."

That seemed to work with him as he pointed his wand to his chest - Hope didn't know how he did it, magic while dead; but then, he was a dead man that fought with a feral fighting style. The fire immediately consumed his body, his mouth chewing the flames and his eyes rolled back; his skin and flesh eaten by his own curse.

She stared at the pile of ashes and turned to the emperor, wondering how to explain that she had forgotten that inferis were destroyed by fire. But he wasn't there.

The witch heard the sounds of arrows flying through the sky, aiming her. The three spars that would have hit her if she hadn't jumped backwards made her realise that even if she had killed her instructor, her training wasn't over.

OoO

The main ballroom of the Malfoy State was a large rectangular chamber whose walls were covered by Venetian mirrors, the ceiling was ornamented in silver, maroon and white; the floor in ivory. Large ground-chandeliers of silver surrounded the guests; similar to those hung on the ceiling. The ballroom didn't have tables, as didn't most of the ballrooms; but it had maroon loveseats in ivory, where several ladies sat. Arranged bouquets of white and red camellias, dark pixtelyns and mahogany amianes decorated the whole room, as did the baby's breath and unicorn's steps.

Hope wore a typical wizarding robe, with long sleeves and a feather fan-collar. The long skirt of it had a graceful tail; it was made of greyish and petroleum blue velvets, the neckline as dark as the details. The whole piece was embroidered in silver, in a iris pattern. Draco had chosen her dress, so of course he had chosen irises. He wouldn't be there, but Hope was constantly accompanied by the warm presence of his choices. Two small braids decorated each side of her head, but the rest of it was held loose. She checked herself in the mirror - with the kohl around her eyes; she resembled some kind of warrior.

Narcissa wore a robe of similar kind, but more fit for a duchess; it was champagne coloured, with pearls all around it. Hope arched an eyebrow as she saw the woman; with wide blonde curls, the lady of the Malfoys looked quite angelical, in a cute way. The fact that the woman was twice Hope's age but Hope looked more mature than her was a surprise - a refreshingly weird surprise.

"Charity. Malfoys are angels from the heavens. You can be the warrior if you want." The older woman answered, and they stood side by side at the mirror. Narcissa couldn't have characterised them better. "Never thought I would see a Malfoy looking pure, innocent, warm and kind."

Narcissa laughed. "And I never thought you would live until the day you would be allowed to wear your clothes." Then she gave her a smirk and all about being innocent was soon forgotten. "Fashionably late is not proper for hosts I fear."

Hope understood her wishes and soon they were greeting their firsts guests, Lucius in the middle of them in a fitted black silk robe decorated with white gold. Narcissa was praising Lady Throfin's outfit when she looked for her next guest just to see no one. The fifteen-years-old witch laughed when she noticed the seven-years-old child in front of her, a girl with golden skin and long brunette hair; a girl that was a carbon copy of her mother if wasn't for her hazel eyes. "Hello, Lady Leila."

The girl held her posture with an elegance that one should rightly associate with Belinda Zabini. Her curtsey was graceful and formal, but cute. Her stoic face was just too funny, Hope always found those well-groomed children cute. They were always trying to act like mini-adults, but they still had the pure joy of children. "Dame Black, you look beautiful as always."

Hope smiled at the kid's compliment. Oh, that was just too cute. It made her remember Draco and Arty when they were a bit younger; the two of them were always trying to compliment her in social events. "I must say the same to you and what a pretty pair of earrings!" Hope remembered those earrings, she had helped Draco pick them two years ago, they were made of pink siren's scales and bronze; beautiful, in fact. They matched her pale yellow gown very well.

"Earl Malfoy gave them to me on my fifth birthday, they are made of siren's scale. They sing inside my head whenever I desire." She told her proudly, reaching for the much cherished earrings with her fingers. "Your choker is very pretty, too." Leila told her, her eyes fixated on the piece made of sapphires and silver.

"Thank you, Leila. May I ask where your mother is?"

"Oh you may. But I won't know the answer." The girl whispered to her, her body inclined forward and her voice hushed, as if she was telling her a secret. "You see, she doesn't know I'm here. I had to seduce an old man to come to this party. I wanted to see you, they said you looked like the holy Morgana at Yule!"

Hope took a step backward, a bit surprised by her change of behaviour. The girl just grinned at her and ran away before she could say anything else, disappearing in the crowd. Her eyes met the Italian eyes of Belinda Zabini at the other side of the ballroom and the woman shuddered. Hope shook her head in dismay, only Belinda Zabini would made her daughter believe her mother was unaware of her presence at a party just to encourage her daughter to seduce people. But, if she was going to spend some time thinking about it, it made sense. Marchioness Zabini was the only one who had brought her offspring to such a ball where courtesans were expected; and she was definitely the only woman in Britain who had taught her daughter how to seduce older men and women before the age of seven.

"Dame Black, I would like to present my fiancée to you. This is Charis Lys Rosier, my future wife, daughter of Viscount Marcus Rosier and his wife Elaine, goddaughter of the current Duke Rosier." Hope turned her eyes to the couple in front of her. Charis was quite younger than her fiancée, in her early twenties. The girl wasn't a beauty, with the long face all Rosiers had, but she had quite lovely copper hair, that made her fair skin look dreamy. She was petite, what made Barty's gangly form very obvious, still, his straw-coloured hair combed backward and well-tailored robes gave him the noble look he didn't have naturally. She didn't either, so Hope supposed they were well-matched.

"It's a pleasure, Lady Charis. She is quite lovely, Barty, you must be proud."

Barty beamed at her, while Charis held her chin high, her hazel eyes on Hope's. "Oh, he should. Merlin knows that he had to beg for my hand. On his knees." Hope stared at her in surprise, such a crude language. Oh, she liked the girl. Everyone that could make a viscount speechless had her respect. Both witches laughed at the wizard's embarrassment, but he recovered quite well and soon was speaking: "Ouch, I forgot I was marrying a ginger."

"I like you, my lady. This must be the first time I heard a joke around here. A simple joke, at least. I had never heard that Crouchs fell in love with untamed flames but now I know that this Crouch here has. Although I wished I could have met such flame before, I admit."

"My parents don't like to keep me around very much, I'm afraid. But now that I'm going to marry, well, they are no longer responsible for me. And Timmy is very easy to convince." Hope rose her eyebrows in question as she heard Barty being called that but he just shrugged in response. "Everything works in the way Charly wants." He told her secretly, averting the prying eyes of his fiancée.

"Charly is a very unique nickname." She commented out loud. Charis glared at her fiancée with a menacing scowl that could barely hide her smirk. "Is he already calling me that? Excuse me, Lady Black, but I have to step in my fiancée's feet while we dance in revenge." The woman said, grabbing the viscount's wrist and dragging him to the dance floor.

"I understand your urges perfectly. But please, it's Hope. I fear you might be too used hearing your aunt being called Lady Black to remember me when hearing it." The woman just grinned at her as she positioned her fiancée, her lips moving to say: "Call me Lys, Lyra."

Hope shook her head. She remembered the rumours of the ill Rosier quite well, but apparently, the only disease the girl had was a vivacious spirit. She quickly swept the crowd with her eyes, noticing the Moreaus approaching her. She would have to deal with them latter, though, as she noticed that Lord Rookwood's glass of Superior Red had a liquid with the colour that only the Malfoy's wine mixed with a great supply of hemlock.

"Dobby." She summoned, watching as the house-elf popped up beside her. "If you could please add three pounds of bezoar to a glass of Superior Red and change Lord Rookwood's glass for this one, I would be very pleased."

The house-elf nodded. "Of course, young Mistress, should Dobby alert Lord Rookwood?" She shook her head negatively. "No, Dobby. Thank you for your work, it will be enough. There is no use in avoiding an assassination attempt just to have it revealed to all guests. Such security flaws must never be known, you understand?"

"Yes, young Mistress is very kind with Dobby." He told her, vanishing in the air as did Rookwood's glass seconds latter, just to be changed for a glass with a darker colour than the used. Hope nodded in satisfaction, that was the colour of the mixture of bezoar and wine, definitely.

She walked near Lucius, whispering to him as she passed near: "Lord Rookwood had a quick encounter with hemlock, but now he is in a long meeting with bezoar." Lucius moved his chin higher, in a signal that meant that was enough. "Lady Zabini is being followed by Baron Parkinson, I bet she is quite displeased."

"You want me to flirt with Pansy's uncle? Are you kidding?" She rustled in disbelief. Lucius just batted an eyelid, still holding a conversation with Elder Hurst as nothing was happening behind his back – where Hope was making a fuss of fixing a bouquet of amianes – mahogany peonies whose centre was red as blood and had a fragrance that matched one's wishes, to Hope it was a mixture of chocolate with a bit of pepper, vanilla and hazel. The pixietelys near there where dark blue flowers similar to lotuses who only pixies could grow and brought some flavour to one's mouth when their scent was inspired. Hope could only taste wine at the moment, but that wasn't that surprising – she was getting a bit addicted to it.

"Well, I'm sure it will be quite distracting. Use the flowers to improve the mood." Both flowers were mild-aphrodisiacs separated, but together they were rather arousing. Hope supposed that at a charity ball were most charity relied on sex industry it was a clever use. "I thought that the courtesans were tasked of fulfilling such activities."

"I won't push a prostitute to the brother of a fellow duke."

"Yet you can push your protégé."

"You don't even need to touch him, Hope. It's not like I expect you to fuck him, Morgana knows that such attempt would be a major fail, just hold a conversation with him. Lady Belinda has already dealt with tiresome pretenders."

"Yes, yes, I know. But you are indebted to me." The witch mumbled, arranging an wisteri, with two pixietelys and white camellias and pinning it on her waist. It was very warrior-like or even lively, her green eyes seemed to be only vibrant colour in her appearance. Still, it was nice, and arousing. She sighed, it would be a long ball.

Later that same night, Hope was surrounded by women, they were all analysing Logan Cassey's fine built. There were some men, too, but those were too near the courtesan to notice Hope. She had gotten tired of all that commotion and was leaning on a wall, performing her duty of informing those interested that approached them about the man. It was a bit ridiculous in her opinion, and she knew that Zara Watts agreed with her, as the woman that was constantly busy talking to the guests shared a look with her. They hadn't had a conversation, but there was a silent attraction between the two of them that Hope could easily ignore thinking of Draco.

The Moreau twins, Damon's older cousins, were talking with her, the two of them were the idea of French beauty, with full lips, thin faces and slender figures, their brunette hair caressing their hips in soft waves and elegant dresses. Both of them had the same dark green eyes of their cousin, their names were Honorine Léone and Eponine Cerise. Neither of them used their first name, they preferred to be called Lady Leo and Lady Cher, it was weird but everyone was already used to it. The twins were like two faces of the same coin, or perhaps, Hope mused, two coins with the same face. As her name suggested, Lady Cher was as sweet as the fruit that named her, a futile yet fragile girl. Lady Leo was the manly and serious of the two, with a sombre semblance and collected posture.

Both of them were a bit drunk; and Hope noticed with amusement that while Lady Cher seemed to be a melancholic drunkard, Lady Leo was definitely the feisty kind. Gone was the proper aura that the older twin always carried. They were near the siren's tank, where twenty beautiful human-like mermaids sang lowly. Unlike other merpeople, like selkies or merrows, sirens were very beautiful even under water. As she listened the twins talked about Cerise's invitation to Copenhagen, Hope had to wonder how other countries looked like while she kept one of her eyes on Alexis Wright.

Only foreigners or former Death Eaters and their immediate families could leave the British Empire once they entered. She could still remember how jumpy the blonde courtesan had looked when at Clíodhna House and she wasn't sure if Narcissa had been wise in accepting her. Lady Cerise was asking her if she preferred Ibiza or Copenhagen, apparently Lady Leo had been invited to the first and they were judging their luckiness. Hope replied that she was unable to help, but she had heard that both cities were very beautiful, although they were also extreme opposites.

Hope wasn't included in any of the requirements to visit outside, so she had to content herself with Draco's stories about Italy, Spain, France, Germany, Hungary, Russia, Finland, the Netherlands, India, China, Iceland, Egypt, Turkey and Morocco. He had never been to Denmark or the east of Spain, though, so she had no stories about the two cities. He had never travelled to America or Oceania, either. Voldemort had demonstrated some intent to reclaim the former colonies of Britain and while he already had some power in India and Egypt, countries like the USA and Australia had shut their doors to him, and at the same time, the doors of their neighbours.

Alexis didn't look to be the same person that she had met the other day. This girl was sensual and enticing and her hips swayed as she danced, like the snow falling softly. The madness in her eyes, Hope could now recognize, was alluring. Maybe she had been wrong, perhaps that girl was nothing more than what her eyes met – a courtesan, trained to be one for such a long time that her personality had faded and Hope was searching for something she would never find in any of the courtesans.

Her eyes meet Baron Parkison's and she groaned. She had managed to free herself of his claws an hour ago, when it had become obvious that the witch had successfully distracted the baron of Belinda Zabini. But different from what one would think a dame should feel when receiving the attentions of a baron, Hope wasn't honoured. Indeed, she was offended by his attempts of knocking her out. Lucius had sworn to her that he hadn't noticed how drunk the wizard was, and in response, she had sworn to him that one day she would kill him because of that. Lord Malfoy had snorted.

She excused herself from Lady Leo and Lady Cher before disappearing behind the tank. A siren with copper hair winked at her and she resisted the urge to wink in response. No winking at mermaids while working, she remembered. And she was working – being a hostess was tiresome work, even if her name wasn't on the invitations.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm quite harshly and she looked down to see a dark skinned house-elf. "Errin, do your graces have requested something?"

"Master is calling young Mistress. Errin must bring young Mistress there." The house-elf explained, quickly apparating her in front of Lucius. The blonde wizard had his wand pointed to one of the yurts – Mongolian round and large tents set for those guests who desired to have a prior taste of what they would be buying during the auction; Hope noticed that most of them were already occupied.

But she also noticed that Lucius wasn't the only one with that kind of wand in hands in the area. Sir George Goyle – a close friend of the duke and imperial general, that had no idea of her true identity – Caspar Fronsac – Lucius personal guard, a halfblood and former duellist – and Percival Swott – a son of a squib and a muggle who had been working with Fronsac since ever. "Are we going to interrupt one of your precious guests, Lucius? Won't Narcissa be disappointed that we are not being the proper hosts?"

"Quiet, Hope. I cast an imperturbable charm and the whole manor has anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards as we know, but we thought a wand more would be assuring. Ruby Butler accompanied Lord Turpin inside some time ago. They still haven't appeared."

"You know some people need some time to settle their business, don't you? Beside, this isn't a brothel. They could be having a closed conversation."

"Hope, you are getting out of track. People don't scream of pain while doing it. Well, some do. But not Esquire Turpin. He isn't into that. Actually, my sources say he is quite boring to be with."

"You are also getting, Lucius. Very well, let's see."

As they slammed the door open, Hope noticed that there was something wrong, in fact. The lights were off and while that was quite expected, the scent that accompanied the shadows wasn't. The air reeked of blood, fresh dripping blood and urine. Not sex. If Lucius's statement was right, the scent of blood shouldn't be masquerading any scent of sex that surely the room should have. "Lumos." She whispered, illuminating the room with a ball of light.

The image the light showed her wasn't pleasant. Red hair mixed with red blood, and two naked bodies. A corpse and scared feminine eyes. She couldn't register much more before the woman flew in her direction. Hope saw the brightness of metal and she grabbed her leg by mere instinct, throwing her onto the ground. But the courtesan got up quickly and began to run.

Hope could imagine the sensation. Running madly trying to get away, but not really expecting to do so. They were in a bare field, the yurts were built up in the field of poppies that surrounded the gardens of the east wing of the Malfoy Palace – away from the party and most of the prying eyes but not really that far. If she fled to the manor she would be immediately discovered, and if she tried to flee through the field she'd get caught. The fields reached the hills at the horizon, and only there was the next set of trees to hide.

She looked to Lucius and recognized the sadistic satisfaction of his – he was like a predator watching his prey trying to run away. She knew neither of his men would attack before he ordered, or before he settled it by himself, so she stunned the girl with another flick of her wand. Frankly, she liked Lucius, but he was a sadistic bastard. He looked down to her with a contained smirk: "Thank you, Hope."

"Whatever, Lucius. Don't you have an assassination to deal with?"

"Oh yes, thank you. George, my friend, I thank you for your help." He told Sir Goyle, dismissing the man and watching him return to the manor. "Fronsac, if you and your helper could collect the whore and guard the entrance, I would be very pleased."

She followed Lucius inside with a morbid fascination. Esquire Turpin's body lay totally naked on the bed, he was a man with grey hair and some wrinkles, but not really old. Well, he shouldn't be over his eighties at least and most wizards lived much longer than that. The courtesan was obviously not a professional at the killing arts. She had made a mess of stabbing his spinal cord and when he was already dead, Hope supposed he had a death erection – what made the girl attack his manhood. She should have been really scared with her act as she had forgotten to run away.

"Her reason?" Hope asked, trying to see what Lucius had concluded of the scene and compare with what she inquired.

"We both know that she wasn't a professional, no professional would stay after a killing or make such a mess. Except my sister-in-law but that is her nature."

"You wouldn't?"

"Oh no, this is just a mess. I may be the definition of schadenfreude yet I wouldn't have all this work. As I was saying, this is the work of an amateur. I'm very sure that Esquire Turpin had some angel's lust after his assassination and that she was cut in fright. Maybe she refused to fuck him and then killed him. Did you see something in her mind those days ago?"

"No." She said, remembering how Ruby had winked at her before. She had been a bit attracted to her. "She didn't seem to be the kind that would refuse to fuck, though. Madam Cypris described her as smart and she tried to seduce me. Her mind was calm, focused in her work and I could pick that she enjoyed some parts of it. If I were to try to build an image of her before knowing how she did it, I would say that she is proud. And seeing with what body she would have to work with..." While Lord Turpin had a plain old face, he was a huge and hairy mountain of fat and if she was to consider the cut member on his side, he wasn't that well-endowed. "Maybe she refused to sink so low. I mean, the Turpins may be rich, but they are barely noble."

It was truth. Esquire Turpin was the only nobleman in his family, and being an esquire wasn't so much. It usually meant that you had money to buy your position after the emperor took over. An esquire didn't even need to swear loyalty to Voldemort. A knight was more high-ranked than an esquire, and just a gentleman could be lower. But gentleman was more like a title to the common folk, usually duellers, professors or merchants. Those who were the most successful of those became esquires and were invited to the court, where they would be misprized by nobles and when they returned to their homes, they would have their chance to look down on those who had once been their peers.

"Indeed, I will have to deliver her to His Imperial Highness, but to the others, Esquire Turpin died because of a mixture of sexual arousal and magic, just a bit of magic to give him more…stamina." Lucius told her, extracting snort of the witch.

"You are a cruel man, Lucius."

"Don't tell Cissy what I suggested. Tell her it was her sister. Bella will even accept to take the blame after hearing it. My sister-in-law is totally insane but Morgana knows she loves those things."

"Where is Duchess Black-Lestrange, by the way? She would be the first one you would call to see this."

"She is with Rodolphus."

Hope groaned. "Draco won't have a new cousin, will he? He already has what? Three in Cissy's side. And more…how many children do your sister has? I never meet all of them, I think."

"Seven. She is continuing the family line, after Cissy…" He trailed off, but the witch still nodded. Three years ago Narcissa had explained to her that she had been a victim of a cruciatus curse for almost two minutes when she was younger because her sister had failed to control her powers. She was pregnant of a baby girl, but it had never been born. A part of her relationship with her husband had died there, but they still loved each other.

"There is no need to explain, Lucius." He shook his head, as if he was awaking of dream.

"All our suppositions about her innocence seem to be reasonable. Still, considering today's attempt at Lord Rookwood…"

"And summing Lord Rookwood's cousin successful assassination plot…" she added, picking what Lucius was inferring.

"It would be foolish of us to dismiss what could be much more than a disconnected homicide. You can go now, Hope. Inform Cissy, will you?"

She nodded, opening the door of the yurt. Outside it, were Fronsac and Swott, Ruby Butler on their feet. She looked at her auburn short hair, admiring her beauty one last time before summoning sac and wrapping it around her. When she concluded that with her spells, there would exist enough air to keep her alive, she restrained the body with heavy chains. "Morpheus." She whispered, putting the girl to sleep and throwing her inside the yurt. Lucius had enough magic to take care of it on his own.

The two bodyguards hadn't uttered a word before, but now that she had them on her aim, they reacted, their wands in hand in mere five seconds. "You know, Fronsac. I don't like you very much, you may be part of the old guard…but not everyone of it is as old-fashioned as you, geezer. So, if Lucius didn't pay you a lot I would have told him already that I could win against you in five minutes. And that he could do it himself even faster. But I never did, and this is how you repay me?"

"Hey, Swott, can you hear a bitch barking near here? Isn't she moaning to her owner's son to fuck her?" Hope ignored him, not taking the bait. She had started after all. "I like you, Swott. So don't agree with him. Just stay there with your wand aiming at me, okay? I'm sure being on my side is better than being on his. After all, I'm a dame."

The younger man lowered her wand. "Sorry, sir, but she is the dame." He answered and she smirked, capturing his I-don't-give-a-shit tone. Oh she liked that boy. "Obliviate." She spelled, watching as the memory spell hit the older wizard. The thing with memory charms was that if you were good at them, you could control exactly what you wanted someone to forget. In this case, Hope changed his memory about that night, and about whatever moment he had caught her with Draco.

"I suppose you have to obliaviate me too, milady?" Swott asked as he watched his contractor to hit the ground.

"Sorry, Swott, but yes. Lucius already send a wordless memory charm in Goyle's head. You are the last witness. And Malfoys don't have witness to their failures."

"I wonder if you spoke all of this because you are going to make me forget." She nodded, not trying to hide anything. Those moments before obliviating someone were always great, she could be completely sincere there. "If I'm going to forget about this, then I will say it. You are bloody hot, Lady Black. No chance of receiving a kiss?"

"I have a boyfriend. And if we are going to be sincere, don't call me lady. I'm not a lady. I'm not even a Black! Or a Malfoy."

"You will be surprised to know that you don't look like one, milady. More like a goddess than a lowly human. Just a kiss? You will be the only one to remember, milady."

She snorted. "You are impossible and quite handsome. But I won't, thank you. Obliviate."

His body hit the ground. Well, it had been an eventful and stressing night. On her way back the Manor, Hope noticed a man that looked very similar to the one who had been chasing her earlier entering a yurt, leaving the body of a woman to close the door.

She would recognize that brunette mane everywhere, or the creamy skin. She smiled to her and Hope returned the smile with a small nod to Hermione Granger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the support. The story has finally entered in its timeline, so rejoice and leave a kudo, comment or bookmark!


	7. Hope, poison of mankind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by thegoddesskym

_My dearest Dray,_

_I'm fine, thank you for asking, and no, I don't feel a day older. It feels like years. I can still remember six years ago, and the acromantula I had to face that day. Can you remember the image we made? A fierce girl facing a horrendous creature and a scared boy on a tree. Maybe you were referring to your awestruck expression while I talked about the body parts of my killing. Aren't you a damsel in distress, Dray? I must be your knight in shining armour then._

_And don't point out that you are better on a horse than me. You have more experience. It isn't fair._

_And it will put an end at my boasting. I like to boast as much as I like you._

_As your father may already have informed you, the Ball of Rowan wasn't as calm as we wished for it to be. There is no need to worry about someone else reading this letter, as I charmed it with an unreadable charm, and I advise you to do the same. Lucius said he would inform you about the incident, but he didn't wish to worry you when you are still in school. I will, though, because I know you will prefer to know over torturing yourself with doubts. Lord Augustus Rookwood was poisoned with hemlock, and Dobby secretly administered bezoar to him. No one else discovered anything about this incident, but you will be reminded of Aldo Rookwood's death, we are still investigating the connection. After that, Ruby Butler led Esquire Turpin to a yurt, where she killed him. I successfully stunned her later. He was murdered with several stabs on his spine chord, and then had his manhood cut. Not very comfortable, I know, but both Lucius and I reached the conclusion that it happened after his death. There were witnesses to this event – Lord Goyle, Fronsac and Swott. All obliviated._

_Please, Dray, be careful. Rookwood was killed in Surrey, near Wiltshire. There was an attempted murder and a successful murder in the manor. You will say that it's me who should be careful, but we both know that it's you. You are the earl, you are the heir of the dukedom. Not me. I'm the enraged pit bull that would only be killed because it was guarding something. But nobody would create an assassination plot aiming for me._

_Leaving this matter, how is school? I met Leila yesterday; according to herself, she had to seduce an old man to be in. Blaise will have a lot of work keeping her suitors away when she gets older. Has Daphne finally stopped to rant about me disappearing? She was still doing it when she send me my birthday present, can you believe it? Tell Arty I'm using his gift today, he has the best gifts ever…after you, of course, Dray. Your gift was marvellous, although I don't know where I'm supposed to wear a diamond tiara. You are impossible, by the way._

_How is Day, speaking of it?_

_I know that I just made you an enraged man, but you are so cute. Aren't I hilarious? Missing your fits(an many things else) so much. I can only remember your warmness near me and wish for your presence. My lips are dry of laugh and kisses, and my days are lame without you. I just go to the palace and then train, and read. Sometimes I have to go to parties. Is school that boring or is it just me and my damned luck? I know you will return but a semester seems to be so long. You will come to Eostre, won't you? I promise to show up to see you defeating the ravens, by the way. I miss the sound of your voice and the shine of your eyes. Photography doesn't make justice to your appearance, you know? It lacks the spirit._

_Love you,_

_Hope._

The witch of the name closed the letter, spraying Draco's favorite perfume over it – irises, the scent of her skin, according to him. She remembered the scent of him too, hazel and chocolate. She loved it. Better than the sickening powdery aroma of flowers that she was unable to take off her body. Sealing the letter with blue wax – used by lovers – and her personal crest – as she was granted dame-hood by herself and without having an ancestral or family coat of arms, she was allowed do design her own; Draco had helped, her coat of arms had two black wyverns as supporters, honouring her as Malfoy, a shield with ravens and a mantle similar to the Black's, the helm was a black iris. Domina de cultris was written under it, her motto. She gave it to Arke, her melanistic barn owl. "Give it to Dray, okay? But don't let him catch you too easily. It won't work for me if Earl Malfoy ends up as a slowpoke. No need to wait for his response, Mercury will deliver anything he wants to answer me."

She watched as the owl took flight, playing with the armband of gold with the image of a dragon-fly and flowers craved on it. Arty's gift covered her whole upper arm, and to anyone that looked closer, it proved to be not a simply jewel, but a wand holder. It was very easy for her to take her wand off, but much more difficult for others. On her birthday, she had also received a gift without sender. A dragonhide corset with tassets and a gorget made of the same material. A fishtail skirt of hard leather had accompanied everything, with a small note saying "Use it next time". It was very obvious that the emperor had found her simple but soft robe gowns too delicate for their lessons. He wasn't entirely wrong, of course, and Lucius had told her later the day before that when the Dark Lord had ordered him to buy her a proper attire and give her that he had agreed that it was necessary.

Still, the idea of dressing up to meet their ruler didn't make Hope happy. Her reason had argued with her unconscious mind that she would always have to dress up to meet the emperor; he was the monarch after all. But the clothing revealed too much of her curves for her liking. She would have to send a photo of her attire to Draco.

Just to keep him interested.

Portkeying to the palace, she comprehended that her attire wasn't the only change. She was in the centre of a large hall, which resembled a cathedral. Above her head was the dome that seemed to reach the sky, and her feet stood on the crossing between the two transepts, the nave and the choir, which had monstrously huge windows with a view to part of the citadel. She didn't recognize which part exactly. The triforium and the clerestory had the same stone snakes that the rest of the castle held. And in front of her, stood an enormous statue of the Eight Great on a mountain of rocks. They were immobile, maybe because they were deities and nobody could capture a part of their essences.

Enki, the shaper of the magic to the Sumerians, had two streams of water flowing into his shoulders, the first two rivers of humankind, Tigris and Euphrates. Beside him were Heka, the Egyptian manifestation of magic had two snakes curled around his feet, and Isis, the Egyptian patroness of magic wore her throne-shaped headdress. Above those three, was Morana, the Slavic goddess, who had sunken cheeks and long wild hair decorated with feathers. Near her were the Norse deities: the all-father Odin with his long beard and helmet, sat on a throne with his two ravens on his shoulders; Freya, the lady of magic, wore her cloak of falcon feathers, her fierce eyes staring at those who entered the chamber. And, still on the same level, was the triple-bodied Hecate, the Greek goddess of witchcraft had a serpent around one of her shoulders, a dagger on one of her hands and a torch on the other. And above all of them was the Celtic mother of magic, Danu. As the Isles were the most magical place of the world, of course the mother of it had to be from there - at least, that was what most scholars defended. And there she was, her right hand raised to the sky and a staff on her left; serpents danced around her legs covered by a simple dress. Hope bowed to the statue when she finally finished to analyse it.

"Do you believe in the gods?" A man asked behind her. He wasn't as far as she would like him to be, but his voice didn't hold the false tone he usually used, and she was pleased by it.

"It's difficult to doubt when we are almost them." She pointed out, without facing him.

"You didn't say you believed in them, though."

"There is no need, is there? What are the differences between them and us?" She questioned, looking at the angular features of Isis; the statue of the goddess – that followed the expressive and harmonic aesthetic of the Wizard Renaissance – resembled in nothing the ancient statues of the Egyptians. She was beautiful, though, an exotic beauty.

"One would argue that they are immortal."

"Then, you are a god, your Imperial Highness." She stated simply. His laughter penetrated her eardrums, it was a vivacious melody, rich and deep, warm and lively. "What makes you assume that I'm immortal?" Their eyes meet finally and he raised his left eyebrow in a questioning manner. Hope noticed that he wore casual clothing and had to ask herself if the nobles did such a good job that the emperor didn't have to attend any kind of meeting except with those – leaving a huge blank on his schedule that he used to do things like teaching protégés of his scions and dress casually. Maybe entertain himself with Madam Cypris, too.

"Evidences. Facts. My rational mind. If you are not immortal, then you are fated to die with a face similar to the one I see in this moment." She didn't add an honorific this time, even though they were facing each other.

However, he didn't require it either.

"Back to our former discussion, disregarding my living status whatever it may be, how do you answer to my difference?"

"I find hard to believe in a existence above us. Or lower. To me, the gods were powerful wizards and witches similar to Merlin, Morgana and many others, and the mudbloods that heard stories about them called them gods. With time, they were also lent to the mud mythology."

"Interesting theory. I find myself wanting to agree with you, although I discord of your first statement. Not about the existence of individual above us, but about the existence of those below. Most would point out that as magicals, we are obviously above non-magicals, don't you agree?"

Hope shuddered, suddenly remembering that she was at the presence of someone who obviously hated muggles. Well, she wasn't going to hold back. Perhaps her survival instincts were failing after so much time under the care of the Malfoys. Perchance they were telling her to be outspoken. Possibly, she was just irritated by him yet there was also the chance that she had a secret death wish that had just been discovered. "In some ways, yes; it's idiotic to disagree that we are superior, but sometimes it's seem to be too similar to the mud who feels they are superior to the animals that live among them. They are wrong of course, the blood runs in their veins the same way, and they can be killed in the same way. Of course, magic should change everything; but it doesn't really do it, does it?"

Lord Voldemort took her hand, guiding her through the hall. The serpents in the walls watched them, hissing in their stone language words that couldn't be translated to parseltongue, much less English. Two guards at the entrance of the hall greeted them respectfully as they walked through the doorway, into a room even bigger than the Eight Great Temple – because that was how the hall was named, she recalled. They were on the top of a staircase – the largest she had ever seen. All the steps had two statues on the edges, she recognized most of them: Queen Maeve, Antiotch Peverell, Babayaga, Barnabas Deverill, Bridget Wenlock, Circe, Cliodna, Cornelius Agrippa, Dzou Yen, Emeric the Evil, Gifford Ollerton, Godelot, Herpo the Foul, Loxias, Merwyn the Malicious, Paracelsus, Ptolemy, Raczidian, Yardley Platt, and many others. Although all of them were mute and unable to leave their posts, they all moved in their pedestals. Hope still remembered the first time she had seen one of those, she had found them disturbing.

Hanging from the ceiling, were dozens of imperial flags. The witch looked down when she noticed she was staring at the symbols of them. She wished she hadn't done it. Because as she looked down, she noticed that they weren't alone – no, there were two guards on the end of the staircase, and squeezed between them was a bloodied form with an auburn hair that Hope recognized.

Ruby Butler.

She stopped, dead on her feet. There were still nine steps to the end of the staircase. She didn't need to reach the ground. For some reason, she knew that if she didn't reached the floor she wouldn't have to face her. But was it her? She couldn't really discern the face or the body behind all those scars and racked flesh. The body was still alive and conscious, but there weren't any kind of moans. The blood running out her mouth made her wonder if she had bitten her cheek, or maybe something worse. Her teeth? Her tongue? Could they be have been ripped out? She was sure of something though, the injure on the neck and the orange colour around it assured Hope that it had been a victim of the vocal chords yanking charm, also known as _Tacitum Supplicio_. The black haired witch was sure that parts of her skin had been torn, and that if it wasn't for the living curse, the _Adhuc vivit_ , it would already been dead – the dame recognized the mahogany glow around the body as it.

Sometimes she had to wonder how could a spell used to keep people alive, be considered the most harmful spell ever created. Maybe it was its nature – the horrendous pain that it caused to both the caster and the victim – or maybe it was the fact that it could be only used if the aim was feeling pain and would immediately kill the target as soon as it was ended. It was useless to keep a friend alive, but the same couldn't be said to torture an enemy. As Bellatrix had said once, it was the solution to those who liked to play with the food before eating – but didn't like it cold and unflavoured.

She saw with the edge of her eyes as the emperor dismissed the guards and approached her again. "Lucius told me it was you who captured the courtesan. Fast and unmerciful, according to him."

Hope didn't listen to him. He couldn't expect her to torture the body now that she couldn't deny to belong to Ruby Butler. Not in that pitiful state. The girl didn't even have vocal chords to give any information to them, and she was pretty sure that the Dark Lord had stolen everything of her mind already. It was unjustified. She could be many things, but she wouldn't torture just for the sake of torturing. She knew she wouldn't feel any pleasure in it, anyway.

"I know that you feel hesitant to torture someone like this." He continued, touching her shoulder. "But you should know how to do it. Cold-hearted you can be. But I don't want you to be someone with a heart. And you won't be."

"What lesson do you want to teach me? Don't go against the empire, your Imperial Highness? I already know it. To follow orders? I surely do that." She spat, adding a honorific in what was an almost mocking tone. He didn't say anything about it, though.

"If you do, then prove it. I'm not trying to teach you any kind of these lessons. Just how to give up, and protect only yourself."

"Wouldn't you want to be protected by me?" She inquired cheekily, giving any kind of respect she could demonstrate up.

"The day I need to be protected by you, will be the day I end up dead." He stated. Hope wasn't offended by it. She was almost sure that she wouldn't save his life if she had the chance to choose. Not now.

"Who is holding the living curse?" she asked.

"Another prisoner under the imperious curse."

"I thought that one couldn't command someone to do that, most people simply are not able to hold the curse. Of course the Dark Lord would be able to make someone do so." She ruffed, shaking her shoulders to free herself from his grasp, she walked down the rest of the staircase alone and kneeled in front of the female form.

Their eyes met – emerald encountering hazel – and Hope noticed her eyelids were torn off. She took her wand off – her wand with so many things, so innocent ingredients – and pointed to the middle of the other's forehead. Her eyes were so frightened, if the girl wasn't that one. She could think of someone to hate and cast it. The emperor, for example. But then, it wouldn't be honourable to do it to Ruby. I wasn't Hope feeling the pain, she had to acknowledge the victim, not try to save herself.

" _Crucio._ "

She held the curse for a minute, the body in front of her lashing and convulsing in front of her, in pain. The most frightening aspect of it, was the sepulchral silence. The dark lord was beside her, yet he didn't make a sound. Was he holding his breath? Was she holding her breath? Were the guards at the top of the staircase holding their breaths? Was the body in front of her holding its breath? Even the serpents had stopped their hissing.

What was more terrifying about her act, still, was the fact that she could enjoy it in a certain way. The feeling of being able to safe herself, of being powerful. Of having the courage to be cold-hearted. The assurance that even in hard circumstances, she would be able to keep her cool.

As the curse ended, the body sprawled over the floor, dead. No longer a body, a person, alive, just an innocent corpse now.

"Apparently, both prisoners passed out. Well, I had nothing more to do with them." The emperor informed her and she nodded. She was familiar with killing. She had never killed a human before that day, or a fellow wizard, but she had killed many sentient beings. Hope wasn't bothered by the act of taking a life; she was disgusted by the act of enjoying keeping someone alive through pain. She had killed her, she had ended her pain.

Still, she couldn't keep a tear of escaping out of her eyes. Just one. Maybe, it would be the only tear that someone would shed for that girl. She didn't know how close she was to the other courtesans, or if she had friends outside her brothel. The emperor raised her up and wiped the lone tear away in a surprisingly gentle gesture.

"It isn't easy, the first times. The knowledge of having so much power is mind-blowing. A truly overwhelming experience. After that, you become addicted, or disgusted, or both. But after all of it, you lose your instinctive nature and learns how to think with only your mind."

She stared at him. "You know the story of The Warlock's Hairy Heart, don't you? Death it is what happens to those who try to sacrifice their hearts."

"Shouldn't I be dead, then?" He asked with something Hope recognized as amusement. Oh, fuck, that was what she would receive by trying to give a moral lesson on the dark lord, of course. She patted his chest, pouting at him before grinning, finding her answer to his question.

"I'm sure you have a heart, your Imperial Highness, after all, something has to make your blood run through your veins. You just don't know it." She winked at him. "And if you don't…you are supposed to be immortal, aren't you?"

The emperor just shook his pretty head, still very much amused. Maybe she should be proud of her accomplishment. Everyone knew that there were only two things that pleased Lord Voldemort - other's pain and his plans working out - perhaps she was adding another thing to that selective group - cheekiness.

"Very well, Dame Black. I fear that our one hour session has been already over for a while. I should speak with Lucius to prolong this time. If you excuse me, I ought to find a suitable partner for your lessons, now that you burned my inferi. Would some prisoners be suitable? Or maybe some nobles. Not all of them are as busy as Lucius and some others, you should know. Most of my most loyal followers are quite lazy, you should know."

Hope couldn't prevent the laughter of escaping her throat, after the shock of being asked her excuse settled down. The dark lord winked at her, and walked out, leaving her alone in a show of trust that he had shown her since the lesson before.

Oh, she didn't know if she should hate or tolerate the bastard. But as she looked to the door where he had disappeared through, Hope thought that maybe, just maybe, she would offer her hand to him if they were both muggles and he was drowning in the sea.

OoO

Draco Malfoy gazed at his allies as they had dinner together, Arty sat at his left – the gentleman that his cousin had grown up to be eating quietly as he was taught by Duchess Malfoy; he was usually a charming, charismatic guy but today he was quieter, his short ink-black hair didn't cover his grey eyes that were clouded. The Malfoy Earl wondered if his cousin was alright, he had been rather light-hearted when he had told him about Hope's gratitude. Possibly his blues were a result of the letter from his mother that he had received at the noon.

Daphne sat by his other side, the tall girl with sandy blonde hair had at least regained her cool about Hope's disappearance on the yule ball and now was secretly concerned about her almost three years younger sister Astoria, who had showed signs of being deeply in love with that Ravenclaw girl Sue Li. Said girl sat in front of Arty at the moment, as far as she could from her sister, her pixie chestnut hair shorter than the honey hair of her fiancée, Theo, who was profoundly entangled in the letters of a book, Alchemical duodecimo, as always and sat by her right side, in front of Draco. At her left, was Isadore, her hair in a complicated braid and her eyes shining as she spoke to Morag and Isobel MacDougal, her friends.

Besides Theo was Blaise, his eyes shining as he studied Daphne. Oh, there was the couple who had already everything settled down. They would marry each other and have heirs, Daphne had told him once, but they would be free to have their extramarital relationships. Of course, she didn't count on Blaise's love for her, but that was Daphne, always informed about everything, but completely clueless about those attracted to her. Well, that wasn't the precise truth. She was very aware of the affections of everyone else, except Blaise's. Her fiancée. But they would sort it out.

On Daphne's right sat Pansy. They had returned to talk immediately after the break, Pansy admitting that it was time for her to dedicate her attentions to her future husband, and not to his cousin; she had just needed some time to sort everything out. Draco trusted her as much as a Slytherin could trust his peers. The girl had a long, mahogany and wavy hair, forest green eyes, olive skin and a snubbed nose. She wasn't the girl he would pick out of the whole of Hogwarts, or even restricted to their house and year, but she was fine. Hope liked her and his lover was a great judge of character.

In front of her, though, was someone he would always distrust, Damon Moreau. The wizard had a large jaw and high cheekbones; but although he was rather friendly and funny, he couldn't bring himself to be civil to him. He didn't know how they had ended up together. The Frenchman was a friend of Ivan and Earl Doholov was a childhood friend of Arty, so he actually had some idea of how it had happened and the former sentence was a lie, but when they had first met at King's Cross many years ago, he had also met Hope and liked her at the same moment. After that, Doholov was sorted into Ravenclaw, to his father's disappointment, Damon had just stuck together with them.

Draco sneered as he remembered the letter he had received earlier from Hope, and how proud he had felt while denying the existence of others letters. The news she had brought in her letter were alarming, but as his classes passed that day, he could only daydream about the lasts paragraphs of her letter. He had had Ancient Runes, Sentient Societies, Dark Arts and Political Thinking. He had barely paid attention to the lectures, busy thinking about what she had told him. His father had told him to don't worry; which made him worry even more.

As he ate his dinner, he sketched a reply to his girlfriend, planning to visit Mercury at the owlery. Of course Hope had commanded Arke to not await his answer.

A commotion stirred him out of his reverie, and he watched as a single black owl flew, the night sky ceiling as a background. "I thought Hope had sent you a letter this morning, is the Dame Black already missing her chevalier?" Blaise questioned, taking a sip of his illegal wine. Daphne slapped his hand, chastening him.

"Is Hope alright?"

Draco had the same question in his mind as he broke the seal and slipped her letter off; a letter that had her authoress's light scent of iris and something else that made him remember cold metal. Her tiny handwriting was always heavy black, with narrow loops and large spaces between the words; barely feminine. This time, her handwriting seemed hushed, yet it still held the same meticulous aspect as always. As he began to read the letter, he understood why.

_My dearest Dray,_

_I killed someone today._

_Her name was Ruby Butler, I don't know if it was her real name. A courtesan with auburn hair and vani eyes; the daughter of a mudblood and a blood-traitor. She was taken away from her home when she was a seven. Butler was nineteen._

_She was a dancer, a singer and seductress. With a fierce and proud personality that I had the chance to taste with my small passage through her mind._

_She winked at me once._

_The text of the page ended there, but Draco had already noticed that her letter had two pages, and the second had her usual handwriting in its whole deep perfection. He knew that he shouldn't comment on the subject of the letter; but he didn't have to worry about someone reading over his shoulder. He could easily detect the charm she had used to keep the letter unreadable to everyone else, although he had no idea how to break it. He wasn't sure that she knew either._

_I'm sorry for my outburst, I had to write it to someone. I killed today Esquire Turpin's murderess – if you were to consider torturing someone under the living curse an act of killing. Neither her not the living curse caster survived apparently._

_I'm not that scared of killing; it doesn't differ much from hunting or fighting creatures; I was scared at my ability to torture, though. It's nauseating and overwhelming._

_I had already practised the Unforgivables of course; and we both have an extensive grasp of the Dark Arts, but there is difference between practising in a class and reality. It's much more perverse, I think._

_He felt that she was conventionally forgetting to mention. It wouldn't be the first time, neither the tenth; no, as he continued to read the letter, he comprehended that his lover wasn't that eager to share information about herself._

_But he had never fooled himself thinking the contrary._

_You must be wondering while exactly I was exposed to a situation where I had to commit such brutal act; and I must admit that there is something I am avoiding to share with you for a while. His Imperial Highness has taken a liking in teaching me lessons in the Palace. Supervising my education, as your father so gently put it._

_We have meetings twice a week; the days depend but it's usually, each session lasts about an hour. I don't have tutors anymore. Most of my education now depends only on me; but His Imperial Highness is considering to extend them. I don't absolutely loath them, although I won't say they are enjoyable._

_I apologise for telling you nothing, Dray, it was obnoxious of me. I assure you there was reason; and counting with the risk of sounding hypocrite, I beg of you don't ask it. I refuse to lie to you even though I admit being a great user of omission. I will reveal it to you when I have sorted everything out myself but for now, I plead to you to continue to e as forgiving as you have been._

_Love you,_

_Hope._

Draco didn't know how to react. He was hurt, by the fact that his love wouldn't share her secrets – important ones – with him, while she knew most that one could know about him. He was also moved by her straightforwardness and her great will of being sincere. Hope wasn't a simple person, or someone with the right morals. Oh, she had morals, they just didn't belong to the normal thinking. She was very keen on lying and twisting words, but with him, she was blunt.

But he couldn't prevent his mind to wander to the question about her reasons. At first, he had thought about something of sexual nature as any boyfriend would do regarding one's girlfriend and another man.

But the emperor knew of her true status as an orphaned nobody and he was very selective about those he wished to intimate with. Then, Draco went to her other identity. He knew that his lover wasn't a rebel and couldn't be accused of subversive behaviour, although she didn't particularly agree with many things of the Dark Lord's reign.

He was also proud of himself, for being the one she would turn to when she faced emotional distress, she counted on him to help her and he wanted to fulfil her wishes. She was a very closed person, and knowing that he could achieve that was great.

But majorly speaking, he was worried. She had just killed someone and her first letter obviously proved that she wasn't dealing well with that. After all, how would you expect someone to react when they discovered their killing machine?

As he looked up, Draco discovered all his group staring at him with curiosity and preoccupation obvious on their faces. Yep, Hope could be a dammed liar and killer, but she had made her way into their hearts. The supper was over for a while, and most of the Badgers and Ravens had already left. Of course, the Lions had remained to make sure that the Slytherins didn't do something wrong.

"She is alright." He lied easily, he liked his fellows housemates, but he couldn't tell what she had told him to anyone else. "Just some urgent news; nothing that really concerns us, though." Statements similar to that, in Slytherin, were the code for "family politics" and you didn't inquire about that, as it was considered uneducated to do so.

Still, it wasn't very hard to notice Moreau's frown at his words and he internally groaned, of course the Frenchman would ask him the same question when they were alone.

He got up with his allies, decided to avoid his inquiry as long as possible by discussing their potions essay.

OoO

Priamos Theophrastus was one of the strangest men Hope had ever seen. The potioneer was the brother of the most successful potions merchant in the empire, that had even gained the pleasure of selling part of his stock to the great Baron Snape. Her visitor had a stocky form and a mane of golden hair that reminded her of a cocker spaniel. His delight was very obvious, and she could bet that he was almost peeing himself. Like a chihuahua.

The occasion of their meeting was very simple. She had gone to the Greenhouse no.6, also known as the Berula Sanctuary, early that morning in order to take samples of different kinds of hemlock and analyse with the sample she had taken out of Lord Rookwood's glass; however she was unable to as there were none left. She had gone then to the Theophrastus's Apothecary in order to purchase some more, bringing with herself a bag with Venomous Tentacula leaves to sell – the Malfoys were the richest family of the empire, still she liked to have her own money by selling parts of the plants she cultivated or potions she brewed – she was a decent herbologist and skillful potioneer, enough to grow fine specimen of the plants that could bring her ten galleons per leaf.

She was glad for taking a sample of the soil with her and when Phrixos Theophrastus offered his brother's services in comparing the glass specimen with the soil when she mentioned analysing it, she had gladly agreed. The little man grinned at her, excitedly. "As I thought, the soil is the same. There is a difference in humidity, and there are traces of a limestone marl and silica of a soil native to France, though. Which is strange, as this hemlock you brought to me was never cultivated there."

Hope nodded, understanding that the hemlock wasn't stolen from them as she had suspected. She sighed in relief, but she still needed a location. "Would you be able to tell me the exact location?"

"Of course, the Loire Valley in France, I am one hundred percent sure of it, before you ask, milady." He beamed at her. "Now, my brother told me to take a look at your production. Venomous Tentacula leaves, is it? You are a great brewer, Lady Black, I'm sure you have something of high value to us."

As he took the small bag of her hands and tested the leaves by licking the midrib and perforating one vein with his nails, Hope concluded that it was good information, the one he had provided her. At least, she had one location. The question was how the assassin acquired it. The commerce of imported products involved a great bureaucracy, much more to buy a poison, and even more for a courtesan. There was the possibility of a client gifting him, but she doubted that one of his clients would give him poison. Then, there could be a case of illegal trafficking. There, her theory was divided in two. Ruby could have bought it in an open-air market or she could have had contacts on the illegal.

But maybe, she was taking rushed conclusions; after all she wasn't even sure if the whore was responsible for the attempt on Lord Rookwood's life. Actually, considering the origin of the poison, it was probably another person. Still, the fact of the two assassins being at least partly successful on their attempts was disturbing. While the first one was never discovered, he or she hadn't killed anyone; the second, though, had been discovered, but she had also killed.

Lucius wouldn't be satisfied much with her discovery. She had the feeling she was missing something.

Accepting the three hundred and twenty-five galleons (she had given him a discount of fifteen galleons in thanks for his services) and leaving the seventeen galleons which she had forgotten to pay to his brother for the samples of hemlock, she thanked him and said goodbye.

Diagon Alley was bustling with the morning market. She greeted those she recognized from her former actives and smiled cordially to those she had no idea who they were, but still stopped to look at her. The Black witch was an uncommon sight around here. Most nobles didn't come to London, as it was where most muggles could be found, and the same could be said of light families. Still, the city was the economical capital of the empire, the political centre being the Imperial Palace and the not-named citadel around it, and all the nobles that had unsolved business in the city usually sent a representative.

She walked into Gringotts with a confident posture, smiling to the two goblin guards flanking the main set of bronze doors and taking a quick glance at the known words engraved on the silver set of doors. For years after the birth of the empire, the wizards had controlled the bank, but three years ago a treaty signed between Bladerok, the leader of all goblins, and Lord Voldemort had returned the possession of the wizarding bank to the goblin nation, as it had become obvious that they were better than wizards at the task of guarding and investing money.

The witch stopped in front of a gangly goblin who was busy writing on a book. She waited patiently, remembering the first time she had come to Gringotts and Narcissa had taught her that there were three kinds of people: those who waited for a goblin to finish whatever he was doing and were favoured in business deals, those who were too rich to be ignored like her husband, and those who interrupted a goblin and were fated to poverty. As Hope didn't fit the rich position as good as the remaining Malfoys, and she wasn't crazy to enter a one-way path to bankruptcy, she was very pleased to wait for him. The goblin looked up to her and nodded with restrained smirk. "May this morning find you well, Dame Black."

"Thank you, Gornuk, may the reciprocal be also truth. I have just done some successful business with Theophrastus's Apothecary and I wished to invest part of it and guard another part in gold bars.

"Very well, do you wish to see the stocks? And how much to want to deposit on vault 710?"

She gave him her small sack of galleons and took the self-updating parchment of stocks that he had offered her. "You can send one hundred of it to my vault. Use eleven galleons in Floo-Pow, everybody needs floo powder, after all, and seven on gGold Pole. Invest twenty-two on Illegal Pets Detection." She instructed, remembering that the disappearing animals of Rabior's should start appearing around the wizarding homes soon, at least a part of them. "The Kwikenchantment Company has finally recovered from her change of owner and courses, and they are launching an interesting course about grey potions that I am sure will be a great hit. Forty-three to it. The fourth and fifth years will be reviewing the explosive potions around this time of year, so seventeen galleons on Cauldron Repair."

She watched as the amounts of gold disappeared with little interest, more focused on the parchment in her hands. She didn't invest great amounts of galleons every day; but she liked to buy and sell some stocks once in a while. It helped her to multiply her fortune and until then, it had been profitable with some small, calculated losses. "Sell all my stocks of Owlmaster. There won't be any profits in keeping them soon. Do the same to GalloLoans and Gladtraps Wizardwear Group too, they won't get any higher than it is."

"Profitable, you will gain nine hundred and twenty-one galleons and fifteen sickles with it. Anything else?"

"Better than killing an acromantula, you can put it in my vault. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Mystical Meaderie is with the best vintage of ever. I heard their Knotgrass Mead would be rewarded with the Magical Meads Award.”

"Invest fifty galleons on it, and twenty-three on Mina Meadery of Aynha. That will be all, thank you, Gornuk." She thanked him, taking her purse out of his hands, its wheight was the same because of the extension and lightening charms over it, but she knew that there were only fifty-two galleons in it now.

The moment she walked out the bank, she was knocked down the ground by something that looked very similar to a flying muscular chest. She looked up in a mixture of outrage and amusement as it should be one of the first times in years she was knocked down in the streets. Maybe she had hit her head on the floor, although she didn't remember doing so, as the image of a ginger man was duplicated. But then, one of them grinned and the other looked down in apologize. "Are you alright?" The two of them asked in different tones.

Twins, then. Both of them had a jaw-length flaming red-hair and bottle green almond eyes; they were tall, with a fit form, and an angular face. Their clothes weren't made of the best texture; but there was some ability involved in their crafting. She gladly took the hands they had offered, grinning at them when she recognized their sheepish expressions.

"We are sorry, fair lady." They pronounced together. "I'm Forge, and he is Gred."

"He is wrong, actually. He is Gred, and I'm Forge. Forge Weasley, at the your service."

"Nice to meet you; I am Hope Lyra. Were you walking out of the bank?"

"We were visiting our brother Bill that works as a curse-breaker here."

"You are two of the brothers of William Weasley? Fred and George, is it?" She had already met the eldest brother Weasley sometimes. They both were obsessed about runes and had stimulating discussions about the subject; and in one of those, Bill had told her about his family. His father had worked in the ministry when it still existed, and after the birth of the Empire he had been employed at Flyte and Barker, a broomstick manufacturer. His first brother, Charlie, worked as a dragon tamer at the Imperial Reserve and his second brother, Percy, had joined the Imperial Press as a mediator - those officials who checked texts for any kind of subversive content. His twin brothers had been trying to start a joke products company for a while but they still didn't have the imperial license. His youngest brother and only sister still studied at Hogwarts, both were Gryffindors and his brother was a sixth year like Draco.

"See Fred, the ladies of the town are already recognizing our renowned names." The one with a lighter voice and harder steps spoke. He should be George. "Indeed, George. And such a beautiful lady she is. It's not a wonder that brother has kept her all to himself."

She laughed, good-natured. "Were you able to get the imperial license and are you now trying to get a loan of the bank or something like that? I think you are in the wrong place if that is the case, GalloLoans is at the south side of the alley." When she met their gob smacked expressions, she smirked. "Bill told me."

"Of course he did. Unfortunately, you are wrong. Our business plans have been stopped for now, and true lost, Hogwarts students will be disappointed now that they have no-one to entertain them or to keep them away of History of Magic. But you have never studied in Hogwarts, have you? I would remember such a beauty." Fred spoke up.

"I'm homeschooled." She agreed, only to be interrupted by a voice calling her "Dame Black". She noticed the betrayed looks that twins had printed on their faces as she turned to greet an excited merchant that wanted her to take a look at his beautiful and complimenting pieces of jewellery, the best of the market. She refused of course, but as she turned to the pair she had been talking to, they had already vanished.

OoO

Following the life of a nobody step by step wasn't as easy as it should be, Hope concluded at the end of the next Monday. There were almost no registers about Ruby's life. A birth certificate, the results of her former magical core tests, a small entry on the archives of Vivienne's House about her height, weight, health and family, and the purchase agreement signed between the orphanage and the brothel. Her father was a muggleborn, Benjy Fenwick that had married a pureblood witch called Aurelia Max. Her real name was Roxanne Fenwick, born in July 12th of 1976.

Hope wondered if she had known these things about herself. She should have, after all she had been seven when she was taken away from her home, and most people already knew their full names at seven, and the names of their parents. Well, that explained something then. She recognized the name of Ruby's father, a traitor of magic, not the famous kind. But he still had his head impaled by stakes on the walls of the Royal Palace.

Eureka! She had finally found out something.

A huff of impatience drew her attention to the papers Lucius had given her some days ago. Althea Cypris gave her a tight smile and Hope put the documents away. She had requested the madam's presence to inquire further about her employee's behaviour. Lucius had already done the same but he thought that her view would be helpful. Hope liked the way the Malfoy patriarch always seemed to consider her opinions and trusted her work when his son wasn't near to be taught his future job.

They were at her office, a small Spartan room with just her escritoire and a floor chandelier. There was a tiny high window that let some natural light invade the space and the walls were covered by tapestries of wizarding legends. On her desk, there was a silver plate with two crystal glasses and a wine bottle.

"May this evening find you well, Althea. I just have some fast questions about Ruby, I doubt very much that there is much more left to discover, just some small things. First of all, did Ruby have access to a wand?"

Althea didn't look that good now. Hope had heard some rumours that whatever the relationship was, she had had with the emperor, it had come to an end abruptly. That hadn't been much favourable to the Madam's, even if Clíodhna House was still the richest brothel of the empire. "No. All our clients are advised against letting the courtesans take their wood wands, and as you known, and she didn't leave the house much; she was always accompanied when she did."

"Still, she could have an accomplice. I am not asking about her having a wand at the party, I'm asking about the possibility of her having access to wand for a period of time long enough to perform a memory charm on herself. Wine? This is a very good vintage." She offered to the courtesan the wine that was spiked with a mid-veritaserum

The potion wouldn't make her answers completely true, that was a fact. Veritaserum reveals the absolute truth, but what people – if they were susceptible to the serum – believed to be true. It also prevented anyone of telling complete lies. So, everything she told her would most probably be truthful, yet there was a very large chance of it being a rather manipulated truth. Still, Althea was probably the most knowledgeable about Ruby Butler, and Hope would have to take a risk.

"Thank you." The woman accepted it gladly, taking a sip of the drink.

"I have to ask, Althea. Are you her accomplice?"

"No." Well, that was a straight answer. Maybe the potion she had brewed was a bit too strong, or maybe, the inoffensive answers weren't that hard to be pronounced.

"I have guessed it. Very well, did you know something about this whole case?"

"No."

"Did Ruby Butler, also known as Roxanne Fenwick, knew something about her lineage and if I'm right, what?"

"Yes, she did. She knew of her parent's past."

"Still, you characterized her as inoffensive at our first meeting. This means…"

"Ruby Butler has never been a rebel. She was proud, but she didn't particularly care about her parents. If she had her money at the end of the day, she was glad. She wasn't noble, she was living her life. If she was being paid to have sex, she would do it."

Hope swore. She was better at doing it than a sailor would ever be, which meant her swearing was a real show to those who watched her. The emerald-eyed witch knew the dead courtesan type too well, she belonged to it after all. It was very easy to her understand that even being the daughter of light wizards wouldn't change one's moral.

Damn. She had almost discovered something, just to discover there was nothing behind that concealment. She tried to think about anything else, but Lucius had asked most of the questions already.

"Thank you, Althea. You can leave now."

When the courtesan turned her back to her, she fired an obliviate in her back, making her slump into the ground. Moments later she would wake up and say goodbye again, before making her way out of the manor.

Hope sighed and filled her glass one more time with red wine. It was truly a fine vintage, rich and tasteful. Produced at the Loire Valley, the wine was one of the best she had ever drunk, and she had recently become a wine junkie.

Wait.

Loire Valley. She had heard about it recently. At the apothecary, the difference between the soils where the hemlock used to poison Lord Rookwood had grown and the hemlocks of the Malfoy Manor. The Malfoy vineyard was at the Loire Valley, the wine the lord had been drinking was produced in the valley. It wasn't that unusual that when she had obtained the hemlock out of his drink, some traces of the wine had been left.

And if you took the wine away…the soil would be the same.

Damn.

Ruby Butler wasn't a rebel. Maybe someone had cursed her with an imperio to make her kill Esquire Turpin. Lord Voldemort should have detected the curse, but who knew? Maybe she, Hope, was responsible for killing an innocent woman.

The Ball of Rowan had resulted in one immediate death, and another, of the courtesan, later. Besides that, someone had tried to assassinate a lord on it.

She had obliviated more people than ever in that short period of time.

And now, the Malfoys had been robbed. Of a simple hemlock, which had been used to almost kill a lord.

Fuck.


	8. Hope of Francs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally another chapter, beta-read by thegoddesskym!

Hope hadn't had one night of sleep for a long time, and that didn't help much with her mood. When she had snapped at Narcissa some days ago, Lucius had told her to take a break. That hadn't helped much, either, as she couldn't stop thinking about it. She didn't even have the ruler of the empire to entertain herself with, as he had gone on a trip to the Balkans. They had had just one class after the Ruby's episode, which had involved a heated discussion about alchemy and transfiguration, as he still hadn't found a tutor for her.

She was rotting on her useless existence, forbidden to serve anyone and dying of boredom. She had made some investments with the goblins, which was interesting (or promising at least) but during the most part of her day, she could be found in her Potions Lab, the Greenhouses, the Library, the Training Grounds, or the stables. The rest of her time was divided between having tea with Lady Malfoy or something stronger in the Duke’s study – pestering Lucius when Narcissa got annoyed with her and trying to get some information. It was almost like a routine – and she hated those damned things.

There were only two things that had been pleasing her at the moment. The lovely letters of Draco and her profitable business. Gornuk had been rather proud to inform her she was a rather rich woman with almost a hundred Galleons on vault 710, her personal vault. That was nearly one hundred-twentieth of the Malfoys’ fortune.

But, on the last weekend of February, she would do nothing of that. Instead, she had a Quidditch game to go to. In Hogwarts.

It had been a tradition of hers to attend the Slytherin's games in Lucius's and Narcissa's places since Draco's second year, when he had gotten into the team. She still remembered the first time it had happened. Draco hadn’t stopped squealing in excitement as he guided her through the school, and the castle was huge, what made the whole event rather memorable to her eardrums.

She wore a forest green gown with puffed trumpet sleeves at her elbow, scoop neckline and long skirt, a cameo that Draco had bought her when they were fourteen was hanging from a lace choker. As she walked through the gates of Hogwarts she saw some sons and daughters come to meet their parents. It was strange to observe such common scenes. She had been a nobody once, and these people were important to others. But now, she didn't know where she fit. She knew so many somebodies, and to them she was someone. Yet, to those people, she was still a nobody. To these people, their powerless child mattered much more than her – and that was a feeling no orphan got to know.

"Hope!" Draco called her, running in her direction. Behind him, four Slytherins trailed off. He swung her into his arms, smashing her lips with his greedily. She smiled in the middle of the kiss and threw her arms over his shoulders, burying her hands in his newly-combed hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer.

They ceased their kiss for a moment to catch their breaths before he searched for lips once again, licking them to ask for entrance. She conceded easily, letting him in and then, exploring on her own, nibbling and sucking.

A fake loud cough made them to stop what would have been a great snogging session. Hope smiled sheepishly to Daphne, resting her back on her lover's chest, his hands still wrapped around her waist. "As romantic it may sound to you two, it's pretty disgusting for everyone else watching." The blonde slytherin girl informed them. "Perhaps you should greet us, Dame Black, before disappearing with Earl Malfoy in some sort of bivouac. Is it close enough for your rendezvous at the end of the morning?"

"Daphs, we are already out of the public eyes. Hello, Arty, Tory, Theo. Hey, how are the others? Were they already dragged to the pitch in order to play a game that is supposed to happen in the middle of the afternoon?"

Her supposed cousin, Arcturus, gave her a light squeeze on the shoulder, throwing a warning glance to his true blonde cousin. Hope watched the silent conversation, understanding that they were too close to be in public and that Draco, being stubborn as he is, refused to withdraw – she did it for him then.

"You know how Captain Montague is." Draco informed her, and for the first time she noticed that he was in his Quidditch uniform. "But don't worry about it, there is a place I want you to see, I need my good luck charm.”

"Shouldn't you wait to get it as reward when you win the game?"

"Don't be mean. I should be rewarded twice, shouldn't I?" Hope laughed and waved goodbye to the snakes. "Apparently I have a thirsty lover. Very well, I will speak with you as soon as Draco sets me free, what I hope will be around lunch."

She giggled as Draco pulled her in a piggy back ride, attracting a lot attention of the students that weren't used to seeing the noble Malfoy carrying a girl with a too long skirt on his back. Arty shook his head in dismay and a bit, only a bit of fondness at his cousin’s antics. Hope sincerely doubted that there much of the kind that had already seen it among the student body. Apparently, the room Draco wanted to show her was faraway, as he took her to the seventh floor corridor and stopped at the middle of it, in front of tapestry of a wizard she was almost sure to be Barnabas the Barmy. After all, who else would have tried to teach trolls ballet?

"We arrived." He told her with a toothy grin. The embodiment of beauty, her boyfriend looked like a loon – she snickered.

"At an empty corridor? Yes, we did. How nice. There were many of them on the way, if you wanted to snog we could have stopped before."

"The Room of Requirement, this is the entrance. As the name says, it provides whatever you need if your request follows the laws of magic. I don't want much, just privacy and some comfort, don't you? A couch, a fireplace…and perhaps a table." He explained, yet Hope shook her head.

"I have a better idea. May I?" She had a fairly good idea how the room worked, as she had read about it somewhere. Maybe 'Hogwarts: A History', she wasn't sure. However, as she stepped in front of the supposed entrance and asked her request, meandering in circles, she felt the room fulfilling her wishes and laughed in mirth. "Open it." She instructed Draco.

They entered into an exact copy of their room, the west parlour at Malfoy Manor. With matching grins, the room was their sanctuary, away from prying eyes and judging minds. If they couldn't be really there, at least they could bring their temple to them. She gave him a small peck on the lips, grinning when his eyes followed her retreating lips.

She was sure that he would have pressed his lips onto hers if she let him, so she turned on her heels, playfully refusing to react to his shouts of protest. Her eyes met an object that was definitely not part of their place at the Malfoy Manor. The format resembled a giant bellflower of metal with a wooden box attached on the end of it. "What's that?"

"I'm fairly sure that it's an item of the mud. Something involving music, I would bet. I think I've already seen a picture of it in a book. You know those CD's they use? It's like it." She approached it curiously, there was already one of the so called CD's there. Everything seemed alright, except that it wasn't moving.

"Try to turn the crank," Draco instructed, walking behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "In what direction? I don't want to break it."

"Clockwise. Everything seems to work clockwise."

Hope grinned, hearing the phrase that could be considered pretty philosophical if he wasn't referring to muggle machine when he had thought it. "As it should, shouldn't it? The only thing that can work in counter-clockwise direction is a time-turner. Everything else is bound to grow old and dusty." The thing was working now, but it wasn't reproducing any music. "You were wrong, this isn't used to hear music, although I have no idea why someone would want to have a spinning plate under a metal bellflower."

"May I?" Although he asked the question, he didn't wait for a response, his right hand leaving behind her waist and reaching the needle of the device, pushing it down.

Music invaded her eardrums, a fast tune that started with the words: 'Ring my friend I said you'd call Doctor Robert…'

Hope smirked, satisfied with Draco for making the device work, she took his hands and placed them on her hips. "Dance with me." She commanded.

But, as she should have expected, their attempt of dancing was a major fail. First, Draco had tried to guide her in a waltz, but they soon discovered that the graceful movements of a waltz simply were not adaptable to the song. Draco gave up on doing known movements of dance in the middle of the song, and started a elaborated mixture of kicks and punches that made her roll in laughter.

He raised his eyebrows at her in challenge, she shuddered and began to swing her shoulders, her hands joining her facial expressions in making funny faces. They were relieved when the song ended, changing to a melancholy tune that they actually had some idea how to dance to. Draco placed his hands again on her waist, and she closed hers behind his neck, her face nestled in his broad chest.

It was song about a breakup, even more unfit than the last, but they weren't really caring about the lyrics. Instead of it, they were just enjoyed each others company. Hope loved the feeling of the warm, comfy chest against her head, the sounds of his heart thumping loudly against her ears.

When the music ended, they were left alone in the silence. The witch pressed further into the wizard's chest, crushing her breast against his front – and suddenly the mood was changed to a more lustful one. Her hands went up his neck, caressing his nape and playing with his hair. His hands went down, stroking the soft clothing that covered her bottom. She felt his erection and that encouraged her to press her body a bit against it.

The gramophone long forgotten, Hope wrapped her legs around Draco's hips, their lips pressed against each other, biting and sucking. He pressed her against the wall, his form towering over hers as their tongues battled for dominance.

Hope moaned when she let him take over, a prize for such devoted performance. She felt his lips leaving her mouth and going down her jaw, and to her neck, sucking and nibbling the soft skin. She buried her face in his hair. Draco shoved the sleeves down her shoulders, his lips caressing the skin the clothing had just left bare.

His hands went behind the bodice of her gown, unbuttoning the dress and massaging the skin. His hands pushed her skirt up, stroking her tights while devouring her neck. She moaned and bent her head down to kiss his own neck and bit his ear, playing with his most sensitive points.

His hands slipped under her dress to fondle her bare breasts. In turn, the witch slipped her hands under his jersey and shirt. He pulled away to help her in her task of undressing him, and she gave him a small smile as she finished unbuttoning her dress, leaving her basically naked, only in knickers, wand holster and garters as her gown prevented her of using any kind of bra. Draco sucked a breath in as he saw the beautiful body of his lover, and inserted her rosy nipple into his mouth.

She moaned, her mind had long left her and now she was just roaming in dizziness. Her lover turned his lust-filled eyes to her and tried to kneel but she held him up as she kissed his chest lovingly, leaving marks and going down. She grabbed his erection and smirked up to him. "Are you sure?" He asked.

She nodded. "I love you, Dray."

"I love you too."

She licked the tip of his organ, and then the whole length, before inserting it inside her mouth. It was an weird sensation, but arousing, and she enjoyed fucking him with her mouth, and he also did, that was very much obvious. She loved his groans of arouse and she loved the way he seemed to adore her. After she shallowed, he claimed her lips again, tasting.

She trailed kisses over his whole body, and her moans when he sucked her most sensitive areas were enough to hard him again. Draco was done holding himself back. He pushed her into one of the loveseats and crawled over her. Just when he was already above her, he seemed to regret his roughness and tried to back away. Yet, she smiled and wrapped her legs around his hips, her hands hugging him. Their eyes locked and they nodded together in understanding, before tasting each other mouths again.

Draco entered inside her, letting her adjust to their position. She kissed him again as a signal for him to continue, and he started to slowly thrust inside her. But that didn't last for long, as she was soon accompanying him and commanding him to go faster. When he didn't seem to be following her orders, she took control, pushing her insides against his length. That didn't last long, either, as soon they were both over, her head resting on his chest as they trembled in aftershock.

They smiled at each other, but a doubt had taken over Draco's head. "You never told me that you have already been in other relationships."

Hope could sense the jealously in his voice, even if he was trying to tone it down. He wasn't trying to be a jerk and accusing her, or even trying to inquire why she had hesitated to have sex with him. "I have never. What makes you think that?"

"Well, you didn't well…bleed?"

She shook her head in amusement, chuckling. "Not all virgins bleed, Dray. Don't be an idiot. But that was great."

"Yes, it was amazing. Wonderful."

"Better than Pansy?"

"Much better. It cannot be even compared. Maybe it is because this is the first time I made it to someone I love." She nestled her head into his shoulder bone, the feeling of his hands making rolls over her back was soothing. "I love you too. Just the thought that you will be away until Ostara is unsettling."

He groaned, remembering the fact that she would return to his home the same day and they would only be able to speak with each other through letters for another month – the Spring Equinox seemed to be so far. "I couldn't stop thinking about you this whole month. What will I do now?"

She waved her wand over them, summoning the silver numbers of 11 and 29 above them. "I don't know, but if Daphne knows where we are, I'm pretty sure she will be entering here soon and dragging us to the Great Hall."

"Oh fuck. And here I was, thinking of taking a nap with my beautiful lover's naked body above mine." He groaned, trying to keep her on the loveseat as she got up and asked for the room to fill a bathtub with water for her to slip into. Draco looked up, watching her take a bath. "This bathtub is very useful for another purpose, don't you think?" He asked, twinkling his eyes at her suggestively.

"Maybe later. You should take a bath too. I think I'm forgetting about something. Do you have any idea what it might be?"

"Contraceptive charms. At least, if you don't want to have a baby. I have nothing against it, can you imagine it? A silver blonde boy with your gorgeous eyes playing with his beautiful raven-haired sister of silver eyes." He mumbled, entering in the bath with her. Hope laughed hearing that, just to notice the dreamy look in his eyes and comprehend that he was at least partially serious about it.

"We could name him Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. She would be named Artemis Selene Malfoy. You would marry me and then be called Hope Lyra Malfoy; as you should have been since always."

Hope winced – it was lovely, and Draco looked so much like a fool in love talking like that – but she didn’t like talking about the future. She was realistic, while her boyfriend was an idealistic. "Yes, and then you would have half-blood children. I would love to marry you, Dray, but I don't really believe that Lucius and Cissy are close to accepting me as your wife. They don't even know we want this to happen. So for now I will rely in the contraceptive charms." She stated, splashing some water in his face and running out of the bathtub before he could retort.

OoO

Daphne was clearly pissed off at them when they arrived in the Great Hall.

Hope would never stop being astonished by the ceiling of the chamber, even after so many years of visiting the school for Draco's games. It was plainly beautiful, she noted to herself as Draco guided her to her seat at the Slytherin table. Their group had always occupied the centre of the table, the honour position, and it was an understanding that Hope had her place there. When she first sat there, she had felt like a traitor – after all, she should be the first muggleborn in more than a decade to be inside Hogwarts, and she sat at the honour guest's seat. But then, she felt a bit smug, after all there were them, a bunch of blood-purists honouring the mudblood.

Lacerta and Rigel sat on her sides, even if they were Ravenclaws, while Draco sat in front of her with Blaise and Arty beside him. Astoria Greengrass sat with Isadore Nott, who was beside her brother Theo, the youngest girl of their group looking quite sullen. Draco had told her the younger Lady Greengrass had been attracted to a plebeian Ravenclaw girl and that Daphne wasn't much pleased with her sister. Hope could bet the dark-haired sister was being stubborn – if she had learnt something about the Greengrass ladies, it was that they were intense, stubborn, prideful and bossy. She just smiled at the younger girl. As they sat, they heard Daphne huffing beside Blaise and Hope grinned at her, before looking at the Black twins. "So, Lacy, how are you pretending to win this game from the snakes?"

Draco's cousins could have been the same person if you didn't consider their hair. They were like cherubs, with oval-shaped faces and the turned up noses of the Blacks, round big teary eyes with blue-grey orbs, round pouting lips and thick eyebrows. Lacerta had her mother's hair, though, wild thick and black; while Rigel had sleek auburn hair with which he made the manliest hairstyles he could think of, to compensate for his feminine features. One could be easily deceived by their angelic features and believe they were innocent, but they wouldn't be more wrong. The Black twins were vicious and they didn't try to hide it from those who knew their true persona.

The girl sent her a murderous glare that would make everyone but another Black woman, like her mother, her aunt and her adopted by nobody cousin, shiver. The fourteen years old girl didn't like her nickname much; but – as Hope filled the category of adopted-by-nobody cousin quite well – the guest of Hogwarts didn't shiver. She smiled sweetly at her: "I cannot wait for playing. Montague may be a plebeian, but he has the best tactics. Even better than Flint, he was a bit soft in my opinion. Cousin told me he was great, but if that's true, maybe he had got a bit softer in the year I had the chance of playing against him. Davies is a bit of a ponce as captain, and Chang is a bitch, but as long as I get the chance to kill Zabini, I will be happy. Don't you think, brother?"

"Montague is better; the beaters will crush your Chang seeker in matter of seconds; and you chasers will do the same with bloody Davies and the rest of his team, except for you sister. You will kill Zabini until the end of our schooling years, by the way. But you know my opinion about Quidditch, sister." He told her, not taking his eyes of the pocket book in his hands. If Hope were to judge the cover, she would bet it was from the Black collection – most probably about Dark Arts, if she were to consider his grin.

"A loss of time. Can you believe in him, Lyra?"

"You two must be the only people to call me by middle name." Hope pointed out, not wanting to answer to Lacerta that she understood her twin's point.

"Well, it's your star name, isn't it? As Blacks, you should consider it an honour that we see you as family. Besides, Hope is just too…cheerful. Back to Quidditch, I cannot understand how you can think that it's productive. You should just join the KW, it is much more entertaining." Rigel argued back.

KW stood out for Knights of Walpurgis, in honouring of the firsts of the name. It was a club for pureblood children train their abilities at politics. It was rather new, founded two years ago. Draco and his allies weren't part of it, simply because they were already too high-ranked to lower themselves to clubbing with social-climbers. Rigel at the other hand loved it. He was the king of his small kingdom and while he would inherit nothing from the Blacks – much less from the Lestranges, as the title had gone to his uncle Rabastan the moment his father had chosen to accept his dukedom as a Black – he had already too much social standing to be disregarded.

"Your pretty club is boring, brother. There is no action in it; no blood!" The girl shouted; nobody looked at them though, too used to the twins' antics. Arty gave her an exasperated look and she could imagine the words he should be thinking: See what I have to deal with? And this isn't even the problem! The major issue is that it runs in the family…from both sides of it!

Of course, he would never use the tone she imaging him to be using and she was rather aware of it, still, she was pretty sure that was the intonation his thoughts had. Hope decided against paying more attention to the twins ramble and ignored their talk as most did. They did extremely well at classes she had heard, even without opening a book about their subjects or doing no homework. The truth was that fourteen years ago, Bellatrix Black-Lestrange had given birth to a sociopath and a psychopath. Or maybe just a sadistic person, Hope wasn't sure were Lacerta fit the most.

"So, has Draco received his prize or you are still torturing him with your goddess's body?" Blaise inquired, making four people at the table sputter their drinks and a fifth to abuse the wizard's head with a heavy tome – that could be also called a book. The first two were obviously, Draco and Hope; the third and the fourth one were Damon Moreau and Pansy Parkinson (neither of them had apparently changed their affections for her and Draco), and the fifth was Blaise's blonde haired fiancée (Daphne would kill him after she got over the gaging). Although the teenager had an absolutely unstoppable and daring tongue, Hope had to congratulate Lord Zabini for his timing. She supposed she would have laughed at the picture they had created, if she weren't busy choking on wine.

Rigel looked up from his book. "Frankly, Zabini, this won't do. You can't just kill a bunch of heirs and heiresses to noble houses with just a comment." He told his upperclassmen, electing a snort from his sister. Blaise shuddered at them, his hand still rubbing the place where Daphne had hit him. "That hurt, Daphs!"

"You should be grateful. I'm pretty sure that Hope would do much worse if I hadn't already. Besides, this was totally unacceptable."

"Don't try me, Daphs, I can still carry on my wishes. I'm just keeping him as a whole set for you." She taunted in a menacing tone before grabbing Draco by his collar and pressing her lips to his when nobody but them were seeing and ignoring the catcalling of their group – well, of Blaise. "You have your answer, then." She added.

"Blaise, you are allowed to ask that question as much as you can if this is going to be the result." Draco told them, pulling his lover into his lap and playing with strands of her soft hair. Hope seemed a bit unsettled by that arrangement, her eyes searching for any prying eyes. Most of the students and the teachers were too busy with their own lunch and conversations and only their house could notice her existence – as her meeting with the Weasley twins had proved, most lions didn't check if there was a new girl at their nemesis table. Draco's housemates were used to their close behaviour; for years they had acted like that even before their puberties. Still, she shouldn't have kissed him, she had made sure nobody was looking but if someone was…

Draco noticed her trepidation and whispered in her ear. "Relax. They won't notice anything. And if they do, I have too much of their dirty secrets to blackmail them with. Even our guys, you didn't expect me to tell them everything if I wasn't sure they would keep it a secret, did you?"

She smiled to him, patting his head. "Good snake-boy – cunning as a true Slytherin."

"Besides, you are too gorgeous and sexy to risk losing you to laxity…Even if the thought of fucking you right here in front of everyone and showing them how beautiful you are sort of arouses me. Can you imagine it? You, me on this table." His voice was husky and Hope had to admit that the sound of it in her ears aroused her as much as it did him.

Feeling a bit mischievous, she hummed in his ear. "You like it rough, don't you Dray? Tell me your fantasies, sweetie, and maybe I will turn them into reality." She grinned in satisfaction when she felt his erection and smiled sweetly to Frenchman in the table, in a perfect imitation of Lacerta. She could see Damon swift on his seat.

She launched a conversation with him on his cousins she had met at the ball, easily ignoring the later events of that night. Not a place to discuss assassinations, in no way in hell. Pansy interrupted them in order to praise the two French ladies, and Hope gave her a light smile which the Slytherin didn’t return.

That should be a first to many people, but Hope didn't hate her lover's ex. True, she would always pick Daphne over the girl, even if it was an angry Daphne, but Pansy was kind of cute. She was a superficial girl, but that make sense in her persona. She would be loud and a talker alone with girls, but in front of guys she was sweet, innocent, a quiet girl. The green-eyed witch appreciated that change in behaviour of hers – it made her human, and humans had a broken beauty. Yes, she had no idea what had made the same Draco that was attracted to her be attracted to that ingénue girl – they were polar opposites, that was a statement from everyone, including themselves – but she had already accepted it. She wasn't the best person to deny the power of attraction, as it seemed to work with a great variety to her.

Was she a bit jealous? She wouldn't deny that she resented the girl a little for taking away so many of Draco's firsts – Hope had since Draco’s third year, when the couple had been formed. There was a tiny part of her that worried over the fact that her boyfriend spent almost ten months in a boarding school full of girls and away from her; together with his ex-girlfriend. Nevertheless, Earl Malfoy didn't have any interactions with his former girlfriend, which was very understanding of his. Sometimes she felt like a prick for provoking him with Damon, but it was just too fun. Besides, she had never dated the French prince, differently from Draco and Pansy's situation.

They continued making a small-talk, both of them were just too prideful to show any sign of resentment towards the other. Avoiding the big pink elephant which seemed to hover around them. Daphne brought the marriage of Parkinson’s cousin with the nephew of Lord Rowle and soon they had made an enormous list of all marriages to the upcoming season. Then they were talking about the new teacher of Sentient Societies and Draco gave Lacerta a terrible idea. They had no idea which it was, as they have been talking about innocent pixies, but if the idea was of the daughter of Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, it could only be heinous.

Her eyes were heavy and her head was ponding as she rested it over Draco’s shoulder, but there was something about the image they made that was very comforting. They were children, all children whose future would be similar to her present. There was the boy she loved, the charismatic guy who was the prince of the house that ruled over the school; and one day, there would be no longer a boy there by her side, but a man, a cold-hearted assassin like his father had grown up to be that would serve a tyrant by doing wrong. A tyrant that she already served and had almost-pleasant meetings with. They all shared similar fates – they would all, at least the males in their group, pass away with at least one murder on their consciences.

She smiled sadly before drifting away, taken by sandman.

OoO

_To my precious Hope,_

_It's been two weeks since the last time I have held your face, and the memory of it makes my heart tremble. Your image tortures my soul and I fear that when I return home, I will be unable to leave you for a tiny second. The urge of pleading my father to be home-schooled grows day after day and I long to be at your side._

_You must be laughing, you are always laughing at me, aren't you Hope? After all, I just send you a letter three days ago. You must be reading this letter and shaking your head in dismay with my melodrama. I have heard that most girls like romantic guys, but of course, that isn't you. No, you are the fun-loving girl with no drop of romanticism and a great ability to end special moments. Thank the gods, by the way, as I can only write one love paragraph by letter and just a simpleton would write only one paragraph in his letters._

_And Malfoys aren't simpletons._

_The Puffs won the match of yesterday, but we are still in the leading. Actually we are probably going to win the cup, so the mood here is great. The lions lost it, it feels wonderful. There was a party yesterday at Badger's and we sneaked in. My head is throbbing a bit. Blishen's Whiskey. I'll have to steal some of those from father._

_I know you are going to say that a Slytherin sneaking in the Hufflepuff's dorm is outrageous, but well, we had to celebrate our mutual enemy's loss, didn't we? Besides, they already had too much firewhiskey. I should tell you that I didn't get drunk, just a bit dizzy. I know you will give me a lecture if I don't establish it._

_Malfoys don't write porn so I refuse to write my thoughts here, but let me inform you that my mind it's being rather imaginative. About your lips, and your body, your beautiful, gorgeous body._

_Just let me say it: Fuck. You remember this word, don't you?_

_See, I can also do teasing._

_Now, you can laugh. As always._

_All my love, my iris,_

_Draco._

Hope kissed his signature, lovingly. Oh, her Dray. She offered his owl, Mercury, a rat and watched as the owl flew back to where she longed to be. But of course, she wasn't going to be. No, she had to visit the Palace, as his Imperial Highness had just returned. Just now she was finally getting to convince Lucius to let her return to the investigation, she had to worry about the emperor of the country.

She didn't know what to make out of the man that ruled her world. She no longer considered him an empty shell, no of course not, and if she were to consider a book she had borrowed from Theo Nott, she would diagnose him as a malignant narcissist and be serious about it. He was ruthless, and obviously sees himself as superior to all. But he was rather rational – he understood society and politics better than anyone. He knew how to rule, how to make agreements, how to manipulate others. She sincerely doubted that he felt that mudbloods were inferior to purebloods, no, she was almost sure he didn't care. In his view, he was superior to all and the muggles tainted the wizarding world with their culture.

He was also a scholar. A knowledge addict. She had yet to encounter a subject he hadn't mastered – a thing that he didn't understand.

But she would never dare say that she had known even just a tiny part of his true self. He puzzled her, his intentions, his methods, his speech manner, his power and core. He seemed to have a complex character – but Hope had the small idea that calling him that was like calling a truly complex man a simpleton.

Still, it would be crazy of her to refuse to attend their meetings. She looked at the emperor in front of her and made a curtsey. "Your Imperial Highness, I hope your travel has been pleasant."

"Very much, Hope. During my travels I found someone to train you, too." He said, gesturing to a gaunt man at the doorway. Well, if you could call these large purple eyes entirely human, he had untamed black hair and wore brown battle robes, dirty. His skin was white as milk and soft. He looked totally human, if you were to disregard the obviously not human colour of his eyes and skin. His name is Atticus Dragoviv."

"My mother was a vampire. Hence, the fangs and the eyes." He explained to her, as some sort of apology.

Hope analysed the figure. She had never seen a vampire, they were native to the whole of Europe, but the British population of their species lived in hidden places. Her knowledge about their race wasn't narrow, though, she had read some books. They were tall beings, with aversion to garlic and vulnerable to sunlight and white roses – they loved the red ones, though. They fed on blood but could also eat pasties, and were very agile and strong. She had no idea which features were passed on to half-vampires, but she supposed the man in front of her should be a strong opponent.

Did he do magic? She couldn't see a wand in his hands, maybe it was hidden. She didn't remember the surname Dragonviv as being magical or vampire, but he could be the son of a half-blood. Or she could have forgotten. Vampires had their own magic, a magic she didn't know the lengths of, she also didn't know if the man in front of her had it.

She smiled to the dirty-looking man and turned her eyes to the young-looking man that ruled over the British Isles. "Are we getting started now, your Highness?"

"Yes, but with swords." The dark lord stated, attracting the questioning glance of the dame. "Soldiers fight with battle staffs," Battle staffs, the weapons used by mudblood soldiers that could only be activated by their generals and, because of that, were only used in battle. "Duellers, nobles and common wizards fight with their wands. But you, Hope, you aren't just a dueller. You are a knight, well, a dame; and because of that, you must learn swordsmanship." He explained to her surprise, as she had never expected that Lord Voldemort explained his decisions to her. "Besides, I found a dhampir, if I'm not going to use their abilities, what I'm supposed to do?"

"The sword?" She asked, ignoring his question. During her lessons, she had learn to open up a bit, and now her behaviour around him was almost cheeky – sometimes.

"Transfigure it." He instructed her, conjuring a throne to himself and sitting on it. Hope wanted to groan, it wasn't the first time that he got that unresponsive but that was surely the most annoying.

The truth was that while she had had instructors, and was relatively good with a sword, she didn't trust herself to battle with a possibly tough opponent with one. She found them too heavy, and she had always favoured knives. Besides, transfigured swords were just a load of shit.

The witch transfigured one of her knives into a longsword, lighter than the claymore the other seemed to use, but also shorter. They faced each other, their swords drawn. The room they were in was dark, the shadows would be good to hide, she noticed. "Begin." Instructed the emperor, but to her dissatisfaction, her partner seemed to totally ignore his words.

She attacked. It was a first for her, she was never the first one to attack in a weapon's battle – with a fellow human, at least. It wasn't that surprising that he was able to evade it, but his temperance in doing so made the girl understands that Dragonviv wasn't to be underestimated.

He thrust, a heavy and strong movement that meet the edge of her sword, obliging her to step backwards to avoid it. Right, if he was the strong and stoic opponent, she would be the fast and restless one. She tried to stab his body several times, her muscles never stopping to work, her breath never catching up. He dodged easily, not even trying to prune and barely moving out of her way, just enough to not be hit.

A blow of his hilt took the air out of her lungs, she had let her guard down. Shit. Her body hit the floor and she skied from a well-aimed thrust to her legs, rolling out of his way and with a somersault, rising up to her feet. The acrobatic movement was much more difficult to do with a sword in hands, she noticed.

He didn't give her time to recuperate, trying to stab her as soon as her body stood up. Her senses warned her before her brain understood it, her reflexes making her jump backwards again. She felt her back slamming against the wall and groaned. He didn't have to approach her much to slam his claymore against her head.

And so he would have done, if she hadn't eluded from it. Several times, as he seemed to have gotten a bit angry with the wall and was now constantly stabbing it. Her sword wasn't as long as his, so she couldn't even touch him with it.

She had to get away from the wall. Being sandwiched against the wall would only tire her. Weren't sword fights supposed to be a bit more impersonal? She bent down and crawled into the shadows, but apparently dhampirs could see in the dark, as her opponent had no problem in thrusting his claymore against her. Her own sword stopped it millimetres before her face.

She pushed his sword in his direction, successfully keeping him away but unable to make him retreat. Seeing an opening, she thrust, metal hitting the bone. He didn't make a sound and she felt her small victory was quite ineffective when his own sword punched her stomach. Ohn, she would have to thank the dark lord for her armour now. His sword made its way to down her knee, cutting the leather of her skirt.

The witch bit down a moan of pain when she felt the warm blood washing her soft skin and stopped a blow with her sword. She invested, aiming for the chest that he had left unguarded, preferring to protect his lower abdomen like most men ended up doing. The same could be said of women and their chests, she supposed.

He parried strongly, his blade running down the edge of hers. Hope felt her grip waver and then she was down on the ground, breathing hard and bleeding a bit. Her sword at the other side of the room. She sighed, noticing with some amusement that her foot wasn't in the position it was supposed to be. She didn't know when she had sprained it, maybe while jumping?

"Episkey." She chanted, watching as it moved back to its place, she pointed her wand at the bloody injury on her leg. "Tergeo."

She looked up to see the dhampir watching her with interest, the arm she had hit fully healed. She turned her head to the emperor, who had gotten up from his throne and was clapping loudly. "Well, it's seems that I have found something you still need to improve that doesn't involve the dark arts. Isn't it great?" He asked, offering his hand to help her to get up.

With one look from Lord Voldemort, Atticus Dragonviv had left them alone.

"It was an interesting show, you are certainly good enough to win against some of my guards. Well, I didn't expect less from you." He told her, making her quirk an eyebrow at the compliment. "How was your time without me, my dear?"

"Similar to the past, before I had met you, my Lord."

"You hurt me." He joked.

"It is quite a compliment, saying that I can affect such a great person, your Highness." She confided him, their bodies near as they walked side by side. He shook his head in amusement, motioning her to sit by his throne. She complied it easily, sitting by his feet. "It has come to my attention that your sword is unbalanced, I will ask Dragonviv further about it."

She nodded and he continued. "Our next class will be in two days. Train until then."

OoO

Hope's day had been very unique until then. It had all started at the Turpin's State earlier that day. Lucius had gathered some strange reports about Lysander Turpin, the Esquire Demetrius's brother. Some business about illegal immigration. Lysander had been corresponding with foreign wizards frequently, a weird behaviour for the brother of a simple esquire. He had even been sending money – the precise sum of twelve thousand francs monthly – to France. Everything was rather suspicious – first of all, the letters to overseas, and then the muggle money.

Both she and Lucius were sure that Lysander Turpin had been supporting the rebels before his death of natural causes.

His death was probably the weirdest aspect of the whole thing. At the age of fifty-four, few were those who died of natural causes. So she had come to investigate. The Turpin widow had weepily welcomed her, talking about how her poor daughter in Hogwarts had felt when she had told her about her father's death.

"Lizzie was downcast. Thank gods, Demetrius was here to help me at Christmas. I never liked my brother-in-law much, too involved in politics for my taste, but never trying to find a wife to be the lady of the house." Hope could detect some resentment there and she had to wonder if the mistress held a grudge for the esquire because he had never taken a wife, and still had prevented her of becoming the Lady of the Turpins. "But he showed us some good this winter. I fear the day Lizzie notices that her uncle is as dead as her father."

Hope had to contain her disapproving glance. It was nearly April, the man had died almost three months ago. Shouldn't the girl have been invited to his funeral? The older didn't notice her trail of thoughts, thank Circe. "May I see your husband's grave?"

The woman looked at her, teary-eyed. "Of course, Milady. Bertram will guide you there. If you excuse me, I just remembered something I had to do. Bertram, answer all of Lady Black's questions, will you?"

Hope had to avoid grinning like a shark hearing her words, instead choosing to bid the woman farewell and allowing the servant to lead her to the gardens. The Turpin's State was an average-sized camp house at Ireland, and at the dawn of Spring, a very beautiful place. The tombs of both Turpin brothers were located in the shadow of a willow.

"Thank you, Bertram, is it? If I may ask some questions before you part…"

"Of course, Milady."

"Very well, how long have you been working here, if I may ask, Bertram?"

"Nine years, Milady."

"And how many servants and house-elves do work in the house?"

"I'm the only servant, but there are two house-elves, Popkin and Dunkey."

"How many Turpin's are still alive? Who inhered the family's title? How were they acting before their deaths? Tell me." She commanded him, cursing the servant with a mid-compulsion charm.

"Mistress Hermia, young Miss Lisa, Master Lear, his son Polonius and his wife Mistress Goneril. Master Lear has become the family lord as the brother of Lord Demetrius. Master Lysander had been fighting his depression for almost an year before his death, and Master Demetrius was excited for the Malfoy's Ball."

"Describe the relationships of the family members to the dead, if you will."

"Miss Lisa was very attached to her uncles and cousin, Mistress Hermia loves her very much. Mistress Goneril is a very kind lady, that loves her son, her husband and her niece. Young Master Polonius admires his father and uncle Demetrius very much. Everyone in the family like Esquire Demetrius, except Mistress Hermia."

She felt his hesitance at the middle of sentence and with a wave of her hand, cursed the servant. "Imperio. You will tell me everything. What about Lysander?"

"Mistress Hermia never forgave her husband for going after that harlot, neither did his brothers or daughter."

"Harlot? What harlot? Esquire Demetrius Turpin was killed by a prostitute, Ruby Butler, or Roxanne Fenwick, is of her that you are talking about? A halfblood whore?"

"No, no. The harlot was a muggle. Clemency Montbeau Hill."

"A muggle? What happened to her? How long was she with Mister Lysander?"

"Years, even before I had come here. He sent her away five years ago."

"To where? Where did he send her?" She questioned, eagerly. She had found something. A pureblood man involved with a muggle, years ago. He had betrayed his wife with a muggle, and sent the woman away. Why would he sent her away?

"France."

And there it was again. France. French francs to France. A wine brewed at the Loire Valley. A muggle lover hidden in France. Everything seemed to lead to France, and she was grounded to the British Isles. "Thank you, Bertram. Now, you will return to the house, forget all about this interrogation, you just lead me here and left, if someone asks. You will prevent anyone of coming here for an hour. Imperio."

And she was left alone with two tombs. She kneeled in front of the tombstones. One, read:

_Esq. Demetrius Louis Turpin_

_1917 – 1997_

_Annoso robore quercus_

Her knowledge in Latin told her that the family motto could be translated as "an oak in aged strength". The second grave held the inscription:

_Lysander Dion Turpin_

_1942 – 1996_

_Father, friend, family_

She was going to desecrate the second one. Sliding the stone plate aside with a wave of her wand, she summoned the corpse. Like all bodies, it had preservation charms on it, so the corpse was as fresh as a dead body could be; he could have died yesterday or thirty years ago. While Lysander Turpin wasn't exactly beautiful, it was much easier to see how someone could marry the youngest brother rather than the eldest. And he was much younger. Age seemed to have a bad effect on that family.

Why was she invading a tomb, one could ask. It was a pretty obvious response. She had to see exactly how natural the causes of Lysander's death was.

"Corpus" She ran several necropsy charms over his corpse, watching as the results were written on the parchment.

Cardiac arrest, brain attack, self-destruction of the magical core. She knew those symptoms, she had seen it once. Just once, Lucius had shown them to her when she was around thirteen. She recognized the cause of death, even if the parchment didn't show it.

Broken Unbreakable Vow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what to do...be happy!


End file.
